


In This Sundered World

by antediluvianevil



Series: Our Worlds [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, In Which Solas Stays and Tells Everyone the Truth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antediluvianevil/pseuds/antediluvianevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Would she still love him?</p><p>Of course she would. That is all she has ever shown towards him. Love and compassion.</p><p>They can find a way to help the Elves of this world. Together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still debating on whether or not to continue working on this and make this a full multi-chapter series with Solas and Lavellan trying to help the Elves of Thedas.
> 
> edit: holy moly i changed tenses in the last 3 paragraphs. horrifying

“Solas, can I ask you something?”

He stood up and looked at her. “You may.”

“What were you going to tell me, the night you took my vallaslin?”

“What?”

“Don't try to act like you weren't going to say something else.”

Of course she knew. She was clever and observant. There was no way she didn't see the way he hesitated that evening. The evening he shattered her heart and tore down everything they had built in the year they were together. The evening he shut out the one person that could convince him there was another path in life.

He smiled. “You truly wish to know, don't you?”

“Yes.” She smiled back, but it was a mirthless thing. “I want to know what you thought would make me hate you. It's not like how I feel about you matters now, anyway.”

“No, no, Atisha. It matters greatly.”

She stared at him. She didn't believe him. He looked back down to the shattered focus. Would she still love him, or would she try to cut him down where he stood? (He knew if she tried, he would not have the gall to stand up to her.) Would she show him the same compassion she showed to all others they encountered in their travels? 

He cursed at himself for letting that hope blossom once more.

“I loved you more than anything,” she whispered.

“And I was a coward. A liar.”

Would she still love him?

“And now?”

Of course she would. That is all she ever showed towards him. Love and compassion.

“I have been called liar for years immeasurable.” He looked up to her. “I do not want to be called 'liar' anymore.”

She believed him. He could tell by the way her shoulders relaxed. How her lips formed a faint smile. He wanted to only make her smile from now on.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Cassandra's voice rang through the ruins, calling for the Inquisitor. Lavellan sighed and looked to where the voice came from, and back to Solas. Was he truly about to give up any possible future for the Elves for his own selfish desires?

No, there surely must be another way. The Elves could reclaim what is theirs without the end of this world. There is always another way. But they could never reclaim their magic, or their immortality. But is the death of countless people worth restoring what he destroyed? The men, women, and children that have thriven in this sundered and mundane world?

Lavellan yelled back at Cassandra to wait. She walked up to him and took his hand.

“You can tell me on the way home,” she said. She smiled.

No. It is not worth it. It could never be worth it.

He squeezed her hand. “Let us go, vhenan.”


	2. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I'm actually gonna be doing something with this.
> 
> In truth, I'm not happy with how this conversation turned out, but I have probably written a 'solas spills the truth' scene five times, and I am never satisfied with it. so I am just gonna leave this one alone.
> 
> There's probably misspellings and errors I missed somewhere in here. I apologize in advance.

The first night they made camp on their way back to Skyhold, Lavellan immediately dragged Solas into her tent. She tried to kiss him, but he stopped her. He looked so sad. So encumbered with guilt. She didn't know what he could tell her that could make him so worried, but she wanted him to feel nothing but love and kindness. He deserved nothing less.

He took her left hand as they sat together. He traced the lines of the slowly-growing anchor on her skin. He looked so miserable. She cupped his cheek with her other hand, and when he looked at her, he looked as though he was on the verge of tears. They sat together in silence until the camp quieted.

“Solas?”

“I apologize,” he murmured and pressed his lips to the palm of her scarred hand. “For my half-truths, and for _this_.”

“The Anchor?”

“The Anchor. The Orb.” He exhaled. “The focus was mine.”

She stared. “You said the Elvhen dedicated the foci to the members of the Pantheon.”

“I did. I watched as they created it. I never wanted it, for the means of creating such an artifact is cruel and barbaric, but you know what it is like to be in a position of power. You are never more powerless.” He let her hand go. “And so I was made a focus. The Orb of Fen'Harel.”

She brought her hand to her mouth. “Fen'Harel?”

He must be insane, surely. Fen'Harel was a legend to scare children into obedience. She gave up on believing the Dalish gods were divine in her youth. They were only legends. He couldn't be . . .

“They said Fen'Harel was a god.”

“No. I was not. I never was. No member of the Evanuris were.”

She couldn't stop her hands from shaking. “How old are you?”

“I do not know. We measured time differently.”

“Guesstimate.”

He hesitated. “Fifteen thousand.”

“You're telling the truth,” she muttered. “You're Fen'Harel.”

He nodded.

“You lied about everything.” She was crying. “Everything!”

He looked as though she struck him. “Only by omission.”

“Why are you here? Why were you in Haven? Why did you join the Inquisition?” She was sobbing like a child.

“I can answer those only after I tell you the truth about the Elvhen and the Evanuris. And Fen'Harel.”

She forced her tears to stop and looked at Solas (?). His face was wrecked with misery. The sight immediately took away all feelings of anger in her. Pity was all she felt. She took his hand in hers and held it close to her chest.

“Show me. In the Fade.”

He nodded. Someone reminiscent of a smile appeared on his lips. “As you wish.”

He placed a hand on her cheek and drowsiness immediately overtook her.

She was in a white void. Solas stood in front of her, staring off into the nothingness. The Fade. _That was quick_.

“I was always Solas. Fen'Harel as simply a title I was given. I once wore the title as a badge of pride.” The Fade shifted. They stood in an empty meadow. A village stood far off on the top of a hill, past the meadow and through a forest. “I was old, even for the Elvhen. Most of the People of my years would have entered Uthenera by the time I became known as Fen'Harel. I was old, but so very immature. So very prideful and cocky.”

The village and forest vanished. Behind them, miles off, the silhouette of a large fortress appeared. “I served as a general for Mythal for many centuries. Abelas, from the Temple of Mythal, was a general alongside me for some time as well. I did as she told me, and I must admit, I was no better than a lapdog back then. I became known as Fen in those times. A powerful shapeshifter who answered to no one except Mythal.

“I was not blind to the tribulations of the People, but I was foolish. I claimed to care, but did nothing to help. But the orbs . . . the foci were the breaking point for me.” The fortress dissipated. They remained in the empty meadow.

“What are the orbs? How are they made?” she asked.

“They are not made, not exactly. They were taken. They are the cores of the Titans.”

“The Titans? But . . .”

“Yes. The Evanuris sealed the death of the Dwarven people for their own selfish desires. For power, they threatened the entire world. That is when I truly saw for the first time, the cruelty and corruption of the Evanuris.

“I approached the eight false-gods, and in their sight, removed the vallaslin that marred my face.”

“You wore vallaslin?”

Solas brought his hand to the scar on his forehead. “Yes. Mythal's. Everyone thought removing the vallaslin was impossible, and I must admit, so did I at first. But I managed to create a spell that would remove all traces of the vallaslin ever being there. It was the ultimate insult to the false-gods. If it wasn't for Mythal, however, they would have tried to strike me down where I stood.

“Mythal convinced the others I could not possibly be a threat. 'Just one stray dog,' she called me. At the time, I don't think I believed I could do much against the empire the Elvhen had created, but I continued what I set out to do. Any slaves of the Evanuris that approached me for help, I would help. I would free them from their bindings and give them shelter. I did that for two centuries before the false-gods realized I was amassing an army.”

Lavellan sat in the grass. “You fought the Evanuris to free the people, and became known as Fen'Harel, the God of Rebellion and Betrayal.”

“Yes. But I underestimated Dirthamen and his ability to know things he should not know, and control things he has no control over. He convinced, bribed, and threatened a large portion of my forces to betray me, while at the same time, many of the People were already deserting in fear of punishment from the false-gods if we failed.

“But it was Mythal's betrayal that hurt the most. I went to her for help. I knew she had sympathy for my cause. She was the most compassionate of all the Evanuris, and she truly cared for the People. But my hopes were misplaced. She ordered her forces to hunt me down, and she joined the other false-gods and spread lies and propaganda about the Dread Wolf.” He sighed and joined Lavellan on the grass. “My oldest friend.”

“Why? To protect her position and reputation, or . . . ?”

“Yes. But it did not matter in the end. The false-gods murdered her. I tried to stop it, but I was not able to do so. And that was when the false-gods stepped too far. Without Mythal to restrain the Evanuris, they would all become like Falon'Din, in time. So I had no other options. I could not kill them. So I locked them away, along with the spirits known now as the Forgotten Ones. The Evanuris kept them in check, and I knew when the false-gods were gone, the spirits would cause just as much damage as the Evanuris. So I locked them all away.”

“How? The way you describe them . . . I just don't see how one could lock them away.”

“I had only one option when the war ended. Most of my forces had been defeated.”

He stopped talking.

“Solas?”

“I used the Orb, and created the Veil.”

“But-- the Veil,” she whispered.

“Is artificial. A construct.”

“That's impossible. The power required to create such a thing would be . . .”

“Immense. But such power was possible because there was no Veil. The Veil was an act of a desperate fool. To save the Elvhen People, I destroyed them.”

“But . . . how did it destroy the People?”

“Entire cities that were reliant on the Fade collapsed when the Fade and physical realm were split. Children born after the Veil's creation were mortal, and the majority of them had no magical ability. They were losing everything that made them Elvhen. Within a century, the People were already transforming into something else . . . and I entered Uthenera.

“And from the Fade, I watched the Elvhen People be conquered and defeated by the humans. I watched as they lost their history and their culture. All of it because of my decision to create the Veil. To save the world, I destroyed the People.”

“But there wasn't another way to stop the false-gods, was there?”

He shook his head. “No, there was not.”

“When did you leave Uthenera?”

“It was almost exactly one year before the Conclave.”

“And . . . Why were you in Haven? Did you know Corypheus had your Orb? Were you trying to stop him, or was it just the absolute worst coincidence in the world?'

He looked as though he was about to throw up. “I--”

His fists clenched in the grass. “I allowed Corypheus to acquire my orb, knowing fully what he intended to do with it.”

She didn't mean to yell, not truly, but she did. “You did what?!”

“Using the Orb, I could have brought down the Veil and restored what the Elvhen have lost. But I was too weak to unlock it. I intended for Corypheus to die unlocking the Orb, where I would claim it. But I had not realized he had discovered the secret to effective immortality.”

“You did it,” she said. “Everything that happened was because of you.”

“I did not--”

She wasn't quite sure what happened. She must have gone mad. She hit him with every ounce of strength in her arm. She realized what she did, and she wept. For both the pain in her knuckles and her heart, and from the knowledge knowing everything she was taught about the world and the People was wrong. And knowing she just struck the person she cared most about.

“All those people who died-- all because of you. Everything happened because of you.”

“And not a single day goes by without me knowing that.” He touched his jaw where she hit him. “Not a single day goes by that I do not regret everything.”

“But why? Why help us? You were going to continue what he started, if you had your way.”

“And I regret that more than anything. It was a mistake. I learned it was a mistake when I joined the Inquisition and met you, and Varric, and Cassandra.” His voice broke. “When I first awoke from Uthenera, being in this veiled world, it was like walking through a world of tranquil. But you proved I was wrong. You showed me that these people are real, that this world is real. That this sundered world is real, and the legacy of the Elvhen could never compare to it.

“Please, vhenan, believe me. I would undo everything I have done, knowing what I have learned in these last two years.”

She looked at him. She believed him.

“Wake us up, please.”

She woke up. He was already sitting up next to her, tears starting to fall from his eyes.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “Forgive me, forgive me,” he pleaded.

She reached out and grabbed him. She pulled them both down onto the bedroll. She kissed him.

“Forgive me,” he whimpered.

She did.


	3. Anchor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking this thing slow until I figure out exactly what I'm doing with it.

She forgave him.

She gave him forgiveness he did not deserve.

But it was forgiveness he so very wanted.

He could love her. Truly, truly love her.

She wiped away the tears that refused to stop falling onto his cheeks. He felt as though he should be more concerned about openly weeping in front of another – he had all but hidden his feelings for so, so long. But he didn't care. He couldn't. She loved him. She knew who he was, and she loved him still. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her flush against him.

“Sorry I punched you,” she said.

 _I deserved it_ , he thought. He smiled and kissed her.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Stay with you,” he replied.

"What about the Elvhen?"

"We can find another way."

“I always said I was gonna leave the Inquisition the minute Corypheus was defeated, but now . . .” She turned on her back and stared at the roof of the tent. “I imagine the woman who defeated the monster that threatened the entirety of Thedas would be highly respected.”

“You have never been one to enjoy fame or power.”

“Of course not. Both of those things are awful. But I've been trying to think about what to do once we had defeated Corypheus. And I wondered about causing a fuss in Orlais about the Dales and the Elves.” She smiled. “I still have the three most influential people of Orlais in my pocket. I can't think of a better use.”

“You would use your position for the Elves of Orlais?”

“Why not? I mean, half of Thedas still regards me as the Herald of Andraste. Andraste herself promised the Elves the land of the Dales, didn't she? Or something of the like?”

“She did,” he said. He saw it. As did he see the Chantry go back on that promise.

“Well, what would happen if a descendant of the Lavellan Clan, Leader of the new Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste, defeater of Corypheus, started making a big ruckus about the elves?”

He smiled. She was serious. “I think you could get much done, so long as they payed you the respect you earned.”

“I guess I still am just a Dalish,” she whispered. “Without vallaslin, or a clan. And who doesn't share any of the cultural or religious beliefs.” She sighed. “Gods, I won't be able to do anything.”

“You can not know that until you try, vhenan. You can do more than you think you can.”

“And you'll stay with me?” she asked.

“Yes, vhenan. Always.”

She made a face. She doubted him.

He kissed her.

“I promise.”

The rest of the walk to Skyhold was uneventful.

The celebration when they returned was a welcome change after the last two months. And the past two years, if he had to be honest. Ever since the Conclave, it had been constant stress, traveling, and conflict. And now it was over.

And she was still with him.

Her lips were the first thing he felt when he woke up the following morning. He smiled. He had to force her out of bed before some poor messenger was forced to knock on her door. The staff of Skyhold already had enough rumors about the Inquisitor and the Inquisition's resident Elven expert sharing the same bed. They needed no more.

“I need to go to my room to change,” he said as he realized that. He had taken all of his clothes out of her room when--

Lavellan gasped. “Wait!” she shouted and went to her desk and started looking through all the drawers. “I got these from a small shop in Lydes, on the way back from Val Royeaux after the whole Thom Rainier debacle. I was going to give it to you, but then the news about the Arbor Wilds came up and I completely forgot, and then the whole . . . Crestwood thing happened and I couldn't give it to you after that so these had just been-- I'm rambling.” She took out a box from one of the bottom drawers and gave it to him. “Clothes. You still own too few pairs of clothing.”

He couldn't argue with that. He took the box. “Thank you, vhenan.” It was the third pair of clothing she'd given him. It was a short blue tunic and a pair of long brown leggings. Noticeably plain, but the fabric was obviously sturdy and well made. “Thank you,” he said.

She smiled and went into one of the side rooms to change. Within three minutes they were heading into the main hall. They sat with their companions, and for the first time in thousands of years, the feeling of guilt was not crushing his spirit and hopes. He could be open. He could be himself.

She had never seen him smile so much.

She turned around when she felt a hand touch her shoulder.

“Good morning, Josephine!” Lavellan said when she saw the ambassador standing behind her. “You need something?”

“I was hoping to speak with you privately, Lady Lavellan, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Of course,” she replied and stood up from the table. She pardoned herself and squeezes Solas' shoulder before joining Josephine as she walked through the archway to her office. “I'm guessing this has to do with what the Inquisition is going to do now that we've defeated Corypheus.”

“Precisely.” She sat at her desk. “We have most likely one month at best before people start questioning us about our future. With the southern lands of Thedas finally recovering after the Breach and Mage-Templar War, they will soon see us as threats.”

“Meaning they'll most likely call for the end of our band of misfits?”

“That is one way to put it, yes. But Corypheus and his forces have only just been defeated, and the news is still spreading. It is simply something to consider.”

“Talking about considering--” Lavellan said and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “How much leverage do I have against the nobility of Orlais?”

“Well, you have Celene, Gaspard, and Briala at your beck and call, at least for the moment. As for the nobility . . . countless families are indebted to us in some fashion. Why do you ask?”

“I want to request that the Dales be returned to their rightful owners, the Elves.”

The face Josephine made was priceless.

“Just months ago, you told me you had no desire to make such a request,” the ambassador said.

“I didn't, you're right. Now I do.”

“I mean, it is certainly possible to make a petition, and considering all the Inquisition has done, the nobility would have no choice but to take it seriously. But--”

“Oh, good! Do that, then! See if Leliana can pull any strings, so long as no blood is involved.”

“But--”

“I need to go do some things. Also, I want a meeting today with the advisors some time. Perhaps right before dinner? Thanks!” She stood up and strode to the door the main hall.

It was mostly empty, except for a few soldiers and agents lingering at the tables. It was later than she thought it was. She passed and waved to Varric on her way to the rotunda. Solas was standing at his desk, staring at several papers lined up. He didn't look at her when she approached and glanced at the papers.

“Ideas for the fresco!” she realized.

“Yes,” he replied and took one of the sketches. It was a wolf standing over the body of a dragon. He crumbled it up.

“That was pretty,” she commented.

“Inaccurate, however.” He looked up to her. “I imagine you brought up your idea to Josephine?”

“I think she was horrified by the initial idea—to be fair, so was I—but I implied it wasn't up for debate. I'm going to speak with the advisors later about it.”

He kissed her forehead. “I am glad. I also need to speak with you about . . .” He took her left hand.

“The Anchor,” she said

“Yes. The Anchor can not remain. It will kill you.”

“What?”

“It was made to be only used by me. It will only take several years for it to start destroying your body.”

“What-- is it just something you can remove, or . . . ?”

“Yes, but no. I could easily remove it, but I am not strong enough. Only one other person exists that knows how to remove it and is strong enough to do so, and that is Mythal.”

“. . . And Mythal is not on good terms with either of us,” she mumbled.

“No,” he said.

“Well, is there any way to make you able to do it?”

“None that I can think of.”

“Oh.”

Solas sighed and leaned against the desk.

“Why can't we just ask her?” she asked. “I'm still connected to the Well.”

“She is dangerous.”

“It can't be a worse idea than letting the Anchor sit in my hand and kill me.”

“No, it can not.”

She cupped his cheek. “Don't worry. We'll figure something out,” she said. “But we don't have to worry about this right now.”

She kissed him.

“You are right,” he breathed.

He kissed her.

“I love you.”


	4. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I kind of know what I'm doing with this. Maybe. Possibly.
> 
> Also, thank you guys for the nice comments.

She was greeted by a messenger on the way to the Skyhold garden.

“Inquisitor, Nightingale and the Ambassador and Commander would like to speak with you in the war room,” he said.

She knew it must have been about her petition to the empress. Almost a month had passed since they sent the documents. Her day was either about to be made, or completely ruined.

“Thank you,” she said and turned back through the main hall to the war room.

The advisors were there, and their expressions told her everything she needed to know.

“Our petition,” she said.

“Celene has declined every request in our petition, and refused your request for an audience,” Leliana said and handed her the response. It was written in the hand of Celene, she could tell.

“I'm not sure what else I expected,” Lavellan commented and read the letter. “So, she said no because the nobility would hate it, and that she believes that large portions of the Elven population would not have faith in such a large social change, and would stay in the alienages and slums where they live in fear of history repeating itself.”

She sighed. “And she's right. Those are things she can't ignore. But it's nice to know Celene is at least sympathetic to what we're trying to do. She says I need to contact Briala, and that she's somewhere in Halamshiral or surrounding areas. I wanted to avoid Briala. I don't trust her, but we have no other options.”

“As much as I hate the suggestion, we could always wait to petition them again,” Josephine commented. “Possibly get more favors from the Orlesian nobility.

“That is what the Elves have been doing for almost a thousand years. Wait. Wait until it gets better. Someone has to stop waiting!”

“Considering the amount of dirt we have on them, I'm surprised they didn't even accept your request for an audience,” the commander noted.

“Celene knows me too well. She knows any blackmail I have I most likely wouldn't use. And personally, I doubt the amount of damage we could do if we released what we have on her. Orlais is still recovering. They're not about to go into another war when theirs just ended less than a year ago.” She sighed. “Damn it.”

A knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said. The door opened. “Varric?”

“Mind if I barge in?” the dwarf asked.

“Not at all. Not like we were getting anywhere.”

“Well, I just got a letter from people up in Kirkwall. Due to the generous amounts I have donated in funds to help rebuild the city, they have decided to make me the Viscount.”

“Wait, seriously?” He nodded. “Congratulations!”

“Yep. Seems if you give the most money, they give you the absolutely worst job imaginable.”

She chuckled. “That bad?

“You know how awful Kirkwall is. Can you imagine being in charge of it?!”

“ . . . I don't want to imagine that. But you actually care about Kirkwall. I know you'll do it.”

“Well, of course! Someone has to keep that floating shit-hole afloat.”

“Guessing this means you'll have to leave Skyhold.”

“Tomorrow morning. Going with a trader that's going to Jader.”

Depressing.

“Congratulations on the shitty job.”

“Seems we both have one now,” he quipped. “I'll talk to you later. Just thought you four might like to know.”

“Thanks.” He walked out. “Both Cassandra and Varric now. Leaving.” She sighed. “I kinda wish I could go with him. I'm starting to feel like I can't truly do anything. Anything worth doing, I mean.”

“You do more than you think, Inquisitor,” Leliana said.

“Thanks,” she replied. “Is that it?”

“On the subject of the Dales . . . For now, yes.”

“I'll talk to you later, then.”

She walked out. She closed the door. She cried. She put every ounce of political pressure into that request, and they didn't even give her a damn audience. She wept. She was completely powerless. Just a damn knife-ear.

_I need to find Briala._

She forced her tears to stop. There's always another way. Always. Always.

She all but ran to the rotunda. She pulled Solas out of his chair and through the doorway to the bridge that led to the battlements.

“How'd you like to leave the Inquisition with me for a while? Travel the world?”

He stared. “Am I to assume our petition to the Empress did nothing?

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even an audience.”

He sighed. “So you just want to leave?”

“Yes, but not because I'm giving up. We need to find Mythal to get this damn Anchor out of my hand, don't we? And there's two people in Orlais who can put more pressure against the nobility.”

“Cassandra, and who?”

“Briala.”

“I thought you disliked Briala,” he stated.

“I do, but she is the best hope the Elves of Orlais have. Celene wants to help, but the political situation in Orlais is still a mess, and she can't risk being assassinated, again. And I don't want to throw Orlais into more political chaos than necessary.”

“So, you want to leave.”

“Yes. And I'm tired of being Inquisitor. I feel trapped. I don't want to be trapped anymore.”

“As I have said before, I have no desire to be where you are not. I will go with you, wherever you go.”

She smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She hugged him.

He kissed her head. “When do you want to leave?”

“Tomorrow. Early morning. Varric is leaving to go to Kirkwall to be Viscount, and I was just going to hop on the cart he's going on.”

“Do the advisors know?” She shook her head. “Will they know?” She shook her head again. “Ah.”

“I'm going to tell Dorian and Bull, but that's it.”

“I suppose I need to go start collecting my things. It is late.”

“I'll sneak food out of the kitchens tonight, so don't worry about that.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead.

“See you later,” she said.

Dorian thought it was the worst idea he had ever heard. Bull loved it. She had to tell Cole not to tell anyone, no matter how badly they wanted to know, where she went. She was her own person, and she was done being Inquisitor. The advisors and nobility had no right or need to know where she was going. She was going to be free. Free. She got Bull to raid the kitchen for her. He got way more than what was needed, but it was less suspicious than her hording food from the kitchen.

“Are we making a mistake?” she asked as she and Solas walked through the kitchens and opened the door to the courtyard. It was still dark, the winter making the nights horribly long and cold.

He spoke as they continued down the steps to the barn. “That is subjective. You are only leaving because you felt trapped in your situation, and that you felt useless, correct?”

“I never wanted to be Inquisitor. Power corrupts. And what's the point now, if I can't do a single thing except appeal to some pompous Orlesian noble, or obnoxious Arl? I feel like I can't do anything.”

“I do not think this as a mistake then.”

She smiled and looked up to the sky. Snow. “I hope not.” She pulled up her hood.

They crept up to the covered cart. Varric sat on the driver's bench, his feet propped up. Solas placed their weapons and packs in the cart as she approached the half-asleep dwarf.

“Varric,” she whispered.

“Sunshine? Coming to say how much you'll miss me?”

“I mean, I will, but I'm hitching a ride with a friend,” she said and gestured to Solas standing at the far end of the cart.

He grinned. “Honeymoon?”

“Retirement.”

“What are you two planning on doing, exactly? You might hate Skyhold, but you've never been one to leave home.”

She lifted up her left hand. “Finding a person who can remove the Anchor,” she started, “and returning the Dales to the Elves.”

He stared, baffled at the last half of the sentence.

“Andraste's tits, you're serious. I'd say that's impossible, but, considering everything else you've done, I say nothing is impossible.”

“We've got plans.”

“Good luck,” he said as she walked back to Solas.

After a few minutes, the cart-driver returned and sighed at the sight of the two hooded elves in the back of the cart. He didn't bother them, and did nothing except mutter a few complaints about more people getting free rides out of him. They departed only minutes later. Lavellan covered her face as they passed the guards at the main gate, and looked back as they were crossing the bridge.

“Skyhold. It was yours, wasn't it?”

“Yes,” Solas responded.

“It was the first actual home I ever had. Most certainly the first place I ever felt welcome in.” She rubbed her face. “I don't want to go,” she whispered.

But she wanted to leave, and she had to. He knew this too. Solas tightened his grip around her waist and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

She slept for a few hours, until the cart started following the western roads. They hopped off and said farewells, and continued eastward on the countless paths now present in the mountains surrounding Skyhold. It took them two days to get out of the mountains, and for the forests of the Dales to appear on the horizon.

“We should follow the mountains south. The Inquisition will surely be looking for you,” Solas said.

“I'm guessing it'll take us almost two weeks to reach the Wilds. Through the cold. And wet. And forest.” She sighed. “The south is truly awful.”

He grinned and took her hand. “We need to cover more ground before it starts to rain.”

And they walked for hours, through the fog and occasional light shower. The weather only stopped after a week, where it then started snowing. (Which she accepted as the lesser of two evils.) Another week passed, and they stopped only about three miles from where the Alter of Mythal stood to set up camp. Solas finished setting up the tent just as Lavellan returned with two rabbits slung over her shoulder.

A fire was made and within three minutes, the skinned rabbits were roasting over the fire.

“Solas, I've got a question about a legend of Fen'Harel.”

He hesitated. “All right.”

“One I remember is . . . about an old Dalish keeper and his dog. It's said the Dread Wolf approached the Keeper, but the dog chased and caught the Wolf by its tail.”

“I am convinced that dog was a spirit whose purpose was twisted. No dog should be able to manipulate the Fade.”

She snorted. “The story's true?”

“Yes. I approached the Keeper, hoping to share knowledge of the People. But the dog disliked that idea.” She giggled. “What did you think of the stories of the Dread Wolf when you were with your clan?”

“I . . . believed in his existence. When I was younger, I'm sure I was scared of the legend, but when I was older . . .” She sighed. “Nothing is evil without a reason. No person does something without a reason. I thought this Fen'Harel fellow must have had a reason for doing whatever he did. I never feared him.”

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

“But did you actually have to bite off your tail?”

“Yes. But it was the Fade. I only needed to will it back to revert the damage.”

She took the rabbits off the fire. She chuckled. “Bested by a hound.”

“Spirit,” he corrected her.

“Oh, my apologies,” she teased.

She handed him one of the rabbits and they continued to talk as they ate, exchanging stories and anecdotes from their youths and lives before the Inquisition. She told him about a childhood friend, Snapper. A sloppy mage, but had a strange proficiency with shapeshifting. Solas told her of his childhood friend, Assan. A sarcastic smart-ass, and an extremely talented mage, even with the Veil in place. How he became tangled up in Orlesian politics, and actually knew Briala before the civil war started.

She wanted to ask if they could get his friend's help, but his expression darkened as he recalled his friend, so she avoided the topic. 

She continued asking him about Dalish tales involving Fen'Harel. Asking him what the truth was, and why he did what he did, only stopping when she started falling asleep where she sat. 

“I think it is time we went to bed,” he said. 

She nodded and leaned against him. “See you in the Fade?”

He smiled. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip felassan. Killed for absolutely no reason.


	5. Loss

He was scared.

Not as though he feared Mythal, but feared what would happen if she saw him with Lavellan. What Mythal would do if she learned how he so quickly forsook the path that he had been on for millennia. Mythal was no longer the woman he had once known—merciful yet harsh, thoughtful, yet never hesitant. She was consumed by this need for revenge for what happened to her, what happened to the human she possessed, and what happened to the Elvhen.

And then there was the Well, and Lavellan. Would Mythal cut off Lavellan's connection to the Well? He knew the answer would be no. Lavellan was useful to Mythal, and Mythal never gave up a thing if it was still of use to her. He himself was proof to that. Mythal knew that if he—

“Solas?” Lavellan said.

“Yes?”

She readjusted her coat. “What was Mythal like? Before she became Flemeth, or . . .”

“Before she was killed?” he asked. She nodded. “That depends on when. When I first met her, she just became one of the Evanuris. She truly cared for the people, and showed compassion for everyone that asked for it. She protected countless from Elgar'nan's wrath, and from Falon'Din's stupidity. I respected her greatly.

“But, power corrupts everyone, even the best of people. As centuries and millennia passed, she slowly started to lose herself, and within time, she started wanting more power. And so she became just like the rest of the Evanuris. She was still compassionate, but she was their ruler. She was their slavemaster. And then she was killed. And when she returned, as human . . . you met her. You know what she is like.”

“She was obsessed with revenge. But at the same time, for just a split moment, she showed a kind of tenderness I didn't expect. I can't explain it,” Lavellan said.

“She is dangerous and unstable. Although, I have not spoken to her directly in years.”

“Spoke to her? But— you mean in the Fade?”

“Yes. She found me after she entered Flemeth. I saw her only several times after. She was busy manipulating history and heroes where she saw fit.”

“You spoke to her in the Fade? Did you see other people you knew? Or, people in general?”

He hesitated answering. “Rarely. There were some people in Uthenera that I knew, but so many of the dreamers were killed after I made the Veil, there were so few of us left. The only other dreamers were scared Elvhen, hiding and sleeping in places long forgotten, and the human mages of that time, before men were fearful of the Fade. And people that did not have a conscious connection to the Fade I rarely ever approached.”

“You were alone? For all that time?”

“I was not alone. I was in the Fade. Over the ages I met countless spirits that I befriended.”

“But none of your people. I know spirits are people, but none of them were _your_ people. Our people. And I know that you know that there is a difference.”

He stopped walking.

“Yes,” he said. “I longed for the presence of another one of the People, but . . .” He sighed. “I am the feared Dread Wolf. Most of the Elvhen still in Uthenera fear me. I had no people, because the People did not want me, the traitor god. For years beyond counting, I was alone.”

She stared at him for a few moments of silence, and took his hand.

“But it's different now. You aren't alone. You have me, and the others you met in the Inquisition.”

He smiled. “Yes. I do.”

She locked her arm with his and they continued walking through the snow-covered forest. It was foolish. He had been with her for so long, but the feeling of not being alone—the feeling of acceptance and companionship—was still so foreign. For so many ages, people feared him and shunned him. But she didn't. She never did.

He kissed her cheek, and her smile made him so, so happy.

They reached the alter by noon. The stone still stood there, even after all those years. A palace once surrounded the alter, but ages passed, and now only the alter remained. He had to admit, the statue and altar did give off an air of divinity, however false. Lavellan kept her hand on her broadsword, which was understandable, considering what they faced the last time they visited the altar.

She approached the dais that the altar stood on, and stared up to the stature of the woman figure. She looked back to him.

“I'm guessing it's too late to change my mind,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he replied. “But we must, if we are to remove the anchor. Only she has the power, and the knowledge, to do it.”

Lavellan sighed and looked up to the statue.

“Uh— Hey, Mythal. It's me, Inquisitor Lavellan. Or, ex-Inquisitor, I should say. I know it's been a while since we've talked, but I was hoping you could help me out with the anchor on my hand. So it doesn't, uh, kill me.” She rubbed her neck. “I'm not exactly sure how this works entirely. I know you can hear me. At least, I think you can.”

Solas couldn't stop himself from chuckling. She turned around and scowled at him.

“Would you like to speak to the revenge-obsessed goddess?” she asked him.

She sighed as she sat on the platform and stared up to the sky. He joined her and looked up as well. Snow was starting to fall again, only adding to the snow already covering the ground and trees.

“I hate southern winters,” she said and readjusted her coat again. “It's so damn cold.”

“You have lived in the mountains for two years, now, you know.”

“It's awful! Don't you realize I light a fire every single night and how I have five blankets on the bed?”

“And how you often ask me to warm you with magic.”

“And I thank you for that.”

They both smiled. He looked out to the field again.

He scowled.

“Mythal,” he said.

She was there. He and Lavellan stood up immediately. Lavellan tightened her grip on her sword handle.

“My, my. What have we here? A wolf and one of his pawns.”

“No, Mythal,” he said. “I have no pawns. Not anymore.”

“I know you, old wolf. You never gave up what was useful.”

Lavellan scowled. “I'm no one's pawn.”

Mythal laughed. “And Inquisitor Lavellan. Although, I suppose that's no longer your title. News of your disappearance has spread across Thedas like wildfire. The Inquisition has been thrown in chaos, from what I've heard.”

“The Inquisition didn't need me. And I had no desire to be a figurehead.”

“And what can I do for the ex-Inquisitor?”

Lavellan raised up her left hand, palm up. “I ask that you remove the Anchor from my hand. Please.”

“And why should I?” Mythal asked, and then turned to Solas. “Are you so weak you can not even remove your own magic?” Her stare turned into a cold glare. “And what is your interest in the matter, anyhow?”

He rubbed his forehead. “I used the remainder of my power to leave my slumber, and as a result, I am no more powerful than most mages of this world. I am not able to do it myself.”

“But why do you care? I cannot claim the Anchor if I remove it, and you lose any chance of recovering what is yours. If you removed it, you could claim it for yourself. You lack the power, of course, but you could always kill her for the Anchor.”

His blood froze. “I can not do that.”

“Why not? You've killed for less. Take Felassan as an example.”

“Felassan was a mistake. I was wrong to kill him.”

“It is not every day the Dread Wolf admits when he is wrong,” she said and turned to Lavellan. “Who is this woman to you?”

He said nothing.

“Has she caused you to forget your path, old wolf?”

“No, she did not. She showed me there is always another path.”

“Another way?” She scowled. “So, you've forsaken the People, now. The very people you destroyed in an act of desperation.”

“No, I have not. I will never give up on the People. But I have acknowledged that there is value in this world I accidentally created. The quick children are not so different from the Elvhen, you should know that, Mythal. They deserve a chance to try to restore the People.”

“I thought you wiser than this, Solas,” she said.

“Acknowledging the fact there is another way is unwise?”

“You spoke to me how you were going to remove the Veil, and restore the magic and immortality you caused the People to lose.” She stepped forward. “That I would get the justice I was denied.”

He realized. That was his original plan. He was going to release the Evanuris, and strike them down. Kill them. That was what Mythal truly wanted.

“There is more to this world than your constant want for revenge.”

“I will have the justice I deserve.” Her eyes glowed blue. “And I will not let one stray dog stop me.”

The Well.

He turned around. Lavellan slammed her sword pommel into his gut and he staggered back. The Well. Would Mythal truly kill him because he refused to let her reach the false-gods that killed her? He grabbed Lavellan's arm before she could unsheathe her sword and looked back to Mythal.

“Stop this,” he said. “Please,” he begged.

“I will have my revenge,” she replied.

He couldn't physically overpower Lavellan. She was an archer, with upper body strength he couldn't hope to defeat. This is what Mythal wanted. He could only stop Lavellan using magic, but she would keep attacking him no matter what. He would have to kill her to survive, and when that happened, Mythal expected him to take the anchor and continue with his plan. That was the only explanation. He needed to stop this.

“What do you hope to gain from this, Mythal? Using her body to kill me.”

He struck Lavellan back and she fell into the snow, only to stand up again and unsheathe her sword. He stepped back.

“A thousand years ago, when I found you in the Fade, you said that you sought to restore the people to what they were before. By you restoring what was—”

“I do seek to restore the people, but the price of undoing the Veil is too much.” He shoved Lavellan down onto the snow. “We cannot act as if this world has no value. You must know that better than I. Or is your need for vengeance all that remains? Do you wish to strike down the Evanuris so much that you would destroy this world?”

Lavellan stood up and approached him.

“I will have the justice denied to me so many years ago,” Mythal said.

He dodged Lavellan's strike and stepped back again, closer to Mythal.

“And so you would kill me. Because I refuse to give you your chance for revenge. Because if I do not remove the Veil, the Evanuris are trapped forever. And only I have the knowledge to tear down the Veil.”

Lavellan lunged, and he sidestepped it. He grabbed the sword handle and held her hands and arms in place.

“Do you truly think the People can recover what they lost? What you took from them? Do you truly believe that you will be satisfied with what the Elves of this time achieve?”

He looked at Lavellan. He looked back to Mythal.

“I do.”

 _Forgive me_.

He twisted Lavellan's arms and kneed her gut. She released the sword and he took it.

He fade stepped behind Mythal and dug the sword through her heart.

Lavellan was released from control and she stepped back, clutching her abdomen in pain. He ripped the sword out of Mythal.

She turned and stared. “I underestimated you again, old wolf.”

“I'm sorry,” he said.

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry_.

“And you truly believe the people of this sundered world have value, don't you?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “I have no desire to die a useless death. Take what I have, Fen'Harel. I have no need for it, anymore.”

And she fell. He caught her and held her as he sat on the snow. He felt the surge of power immediately as she passed. He couldn't hold back his sob. Another of the People, gone, because of him. Another mistake. And for what. For what?

Mythal's body petrified. He wept.

He looked up only after several minutes. Lavellan still stood there. He stood up, forcing his tears to stop. He approached Lavellan and held out his hand.

“Your hand, please,” he said.

She put her left hand in his, hesitantly.

He ripped the anchor out of her. He could retake it, use it. It was his, after all. It could still be of use. But, would she trust him if he had such a power? To manipulate the Fade and the Veil, albeit on a small level. No. He didn't need it. He would not dare be tempted.

He removed it from her body—from her spirit—and let the energy dissipate. The world had no need for such a power. A scar remained on her hand, but all traces of the Anchor were gone.

“How . . .” she started.

“Mythal transferred her remaining power to me. She was much stronger than she showed.”

Much, much stronger.

She looked back to Mythal, and to her sword.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

He said nothing. Mythal's body slowly started turning to dust. Lavellan picked up her sword, wiping the blade clean and sheathing it in its scabbard.

“As am I,” he said. “May we leave?”

“Yes,” she said.

She took his arm.

They departed.

They walked north for about an hour, before stopping and resting on a fallen tree by a creek. Lavellan started to build a fire, before he stopped her.

“What do you wish to do now?”

“With the anchor gone . . . we can do whatever we wish. We can return to Skyhold, go to Orlais, go annoy Varric in Kirkwall—anything. I just want to leave the Wilds.”

He thought. “We can go virtually anywhere. With the amount of power I have now, I can access most of the eluvian network.”

“The eluvian network? But how do you know where they are? In places like Orlais and Ferelden. They're bound to be well hidden.”

“They are,” he said. “But I explained to you once that I had a spy network—which I abandoned completely when we departed from Skyhold. My people located them, but Briala, from Orlais, she has control over the eluvians. Which now won't be a problem. Wherever you wish to go, I can take us.”

“I imagine many of your people were upset when you decided not to continue with . . .”

“They were not. But I do not care.”

She smiled. “Where is the closest eluvian?”

“A day's walk west, at the Temple of Mythal.”

“I guess we should start, then,” she said and stood up.

“Yes,” he agreed.

And they went. They stopped only once, to sleep. The Fade taunted him that night, showing him memories of his youth, and of Mythal. When she was young and whole. When he called her 'lethallan.' When they were friends. When he wore her vallaslin and served her with pride. But then times changed, and so did she.

And he killed her. Pain and sorrow overwhelmed him, but then Lavellan joined him in his dream, and she comforted him—reminded him why they did what they did. Mythal was no longer the woman he knew so long ago. She was completely consumed by anger and rage. She wanted nothing but revenge.

But was there another way? Did she have to die? They could have left the Anchor be, but if it remained much longer, her hand would have had to be removed entirely. And it would have eventually killed her, although it would take several several years.

He knew it was pointless to dwell. Mythal attempted to kill him, using Lavellan's connection to the Well.

It was the only way.

They started again the next day early. They reached the temple before noon. It was almost in the exact condition they had left it. Blood still stained the once golden tiles. They proceeded through the fortress, crossing the bridge and passing the large doors that once kept a dragon at bay—but Corypheus broke the doors when he forced his way through, and now they only lay on the ground, collecting dust.

They passed through the halls and passageways. The eluvians that surrounded the Well were all shattered and broken, but he knew that there had to be a few eluvians that survived, in hidden and secluded rooms and hallways. They searched the area around the 'trials' they did months before, to gain access to the main part of the Temple. Surely there must have been—

They turned a corner and came face to face with three Inquisition agents, and a scholar obviously studying the Temple.

He and Lavellan stepped back as one of the agents unsheathed his blade.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Ah, shit,” Lavellan said and raised her hands forward. “Stop, stop, we don't want to cause you trouble.”

“Answer my question, knife-ear,” the agent snapped.

She frowned. “Hey! Why the sudden hostility?”

“Inquisitor Lavellan?”

They all stopped and turned to the man who spoke. It was the scholar.

“Goodness, I thought I was mistaken. It is you, isn't it?” he continued and walked forward. “I am Professor Francis. I met you several months ago, at the Inquisition's base. I was employed to help decipher artifacts that your men discovered. It is so good to see you again.”

Her face lit up. “Oh! I remember you! You helped us with runes we collected from the Exalted Planes, and Emprise du Lion.” She shook his hand that he offered. “I was unaware that the Inquisition sent people here.”

“The Inquisitor?” the agent interrupted. “The Inquisitor and a member of her inner circle went missing a few weeks ago. They vanished, and no one could find out where they'd gone. What are you doing here?”

“Our business is our own. I'm not a member of the Inquisition anymore,” she answered.

“I'm going to have to tell Nightingale how you were here, Inquisitor.”

“Why?”

“They are looking for you. Some people fear you were kidnapped, or worse.”

“Well, I'm not. And if you don't mind, we'll be going now,” she said and turned around, dragging Solas with her. They start walking down a hallway. The agent followed them.

“Inquisitor, wait— what are you doing?” he shouted.

She kept walking and Solas turned around. He summoned a wall of ice and blocked entrance into the hall. He caught up with Lavellan.

“Well, fuck. He's gonna tell them that we were here.”

“Once we find an eluvian, it will not matter. No one can find us, if I do not allow it.” He smiled. “Come. I know there was a room with an eluvian around here somewhere.”

It only took them a few minutes to find one. It was deactivated, but it was intact. A miracle, at that point. It would most likely lead to the Crossroads, and from there, he could manage to get them in virtually in place in Thedas.

“It is safe, isn't it?” she asked as they both approached the dormant mirror.

“Yes, it is.”

He held out his hand and touched the glass. It didn't want to open, after spending so many ages locked and forgotten. He forced it to, putting every ounce of power he could into the mirror. And it opened, the dim glass suddenly shining and glowing a faint blue. It had been so long . . .

“Are you ready, Atisha?” he asked her.

“Always, Solas,” she answered and took his hand.

He walked through, guiding her with him.

They both exited the eluvian at the same time.

The crossroads. The paths were still standing, connecting and intertwining into a labyrinth of passageways and portals. Countless eluvians could be seen along the horizon, most of them dormant and shattered, but some still standing, open, waiting.

He had forgotten how beautiful the colors were.

Lavellan stared, speechless. She smiled.

“It's beautiful.”

He hummed in agreement.

He squeezed her hand, and they walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely wished they elaborated on Mythal's strange rage-filled behavior.  
> Ah well.


	6. Eluvians

It was nothing like the section of the Crossroads that Morrigan had showed her. Floating paths could be seen in every direction. The light that seemed to come from everywhere was gentle and gave her a feeling of something similar to comfort. And it wasn't cold, thank the gods. She started undoing her coat.

“Where do you wish to go?” he asked.

“I don't know. I want to stop by Skyhold to tell them I'm not dead and perfectly fine, but I don't particularly want the lecturing I'll receive if I go.” She hummed. “We could always look for Briala first.” She finished stripping from her coat and tied it to the pack on her back.

“Perhaps Skyhold, first. We do not know what that agent will say in his letter to the Spymaster. He might cause hysteria.”

“Let's not tell them about our plans to reach out to Briala, though. They have no reason to know.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “Some eluvians are connected like hallways. Others are in separate networks, all connected to each other, but not all connected to other networks. The eluvian at Skyhold is the former. All we need to do is find one that can connect us to the section of the crossroads that Morrigan showed you.”

“Great,” she said, with genuine enthusiasm. But then she realized, and asked, “how do we find that?”

“Eluvians guide you, so long as you know where you are trying to go. I know what to look for.”

“But how? You never went there. Only Morrigan and I did.”

“You are right. I did not. But you did. And when Mythal died, she gave to me the Well. And every piece of knowledge contained in it. Which includes everything you know.”

Her stomach twisted and she stopped walking. “You have the Well?”

He stopped as well. “Yes.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because it is a burden, having your mind connected to the souls of thousands of others. I have completely silenced the Well, however, and I have no intention of ever touching it again.”

“But—why don't you get rid of it? Remove it?”

“I would, but eluvians can't be opened with power alone. You need knowledge. I can open virtually any eluvian, although it does use a significant amount of strength.”

She hesitated before asking, “Solas, how much does the Well know of me?”

“Everything.”

She wanted to cry. He knew everything she knew. He knew her memories. He knew about everything she'd done in life. She couldn't stop herself from crying. Not that she didn't trust him, but out of shame. Shame for everything she experienced and had done.

“Please, cut my connection to it. Please.”

“Here?”

“Now,” she said. “Please.”

He hesitated, almost as if he was unsure if he could do it. But he nodded. He placed a hand on her cheek, and inhaled. And then his eyes started to glow an unnatural blue, and her entire head felt as though it were about to burst. A scream tore itself through her throat and then the pain was gone. She stumbled forward and grabbed his arms for support. Her breathing came out as heavy gasps, her throat raw from that one scream. Solas' eyes stopped glowing and he grabbed her shoulders, keeping her upright.

“Vhenan! Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she mumbled. “That just hurt. A lot.”

“It worked,” he said.

“Great,” she whispered and leaned against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He was hesitant at first, but he relaxed after a moment. “I am sorry. Come, vhenan. It is only half a day's walk from here. And then we may both rest.”

She nodded and released one of his arms, but kept her grip on the other. They started walking, and she couldn't stop staring at the soft whiteness of the void that surrounded the paths. It looked almost as if there were clouds. She knew it was more like the Fade than anything else—like an independent section of it. Could spirits come here? Are there spirits? She looked up, wanting to ask Solas the questions that went through her head, but stopped. He stared off to the path ahead, expression grim and eyes unfocused.

She tightened her grip on his arm. She was scared suddenly. These places were magnificent, and once a part of life for the People. Such wonders were commonplace, and things that she deems as rare and spectacular are, to him, normal and completely ordinary. She felt foolish. What he wanted to do originally was to restore the Elvhen to be like the Elvhen of ancient Arlathan, where magic was as common as breathing and where immortal beings walked Thedas. What she was doing would bring nothing more than, at best, some political power and land for the Elves to call their own. No magic. No immortality. No culture. Just basic freedoms.

Which is more than they have right now, she had to keep reminding herself. Not that it helped.

“Solas?” No response. “Solas,” she said again and squeezed his arm.

His gaze snapped down to her. He looked exhausted.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“Yes, vhenan.”

She knew he was lying, but she was too scared to keep asking, her worries still lingering in the back of her mind.

After a few hours of silent walking, and considering the amount they had walked before they entered the Crossroads, she expected herself to be tired, and for her feet to be sore. But she felt just as though she had taken a short nap, rejuvenated and ready to face the day. It had to be the Crossroads. The feeling was too unnatural.

And then they reached a lone eluvian, standing slightly crooked on a path that looked as though it threatened to fall any moment. Solas snapped out of his meditative rumination and strode to the mirror, outstretching his hand and touching the greyed out glass. The glass did nothing for a moment, then flashed the brilliant blue color she had learned to recognize.

He took her hand and walked through first, pulling her along with him. When she exited, she recognized the area immediately. It was the section of the Crossroads that Morrigan showed her months prior. They walked forward to the eluvian in the centre of the circle, and he managed to open it.

His breathing was heavy.

“Solas, are you alright?” she asked and held onto his hand.

“Yes, I am,” he said and rubbed his head. “But removing your connection to the Well, and forcibly opening eluvians has exhausted me. But I am fine, do not concern yourself.”

She blushed. He had been doing all the work while she simply followed. He sensed her feeling of shame, however, and reached out and held her head in place with his hands. He kissed her, and it was a rough and passionate thing. She sighed as he broke the kiss with flushed cheeks and ears.

“Do not concern yourself with me, vhenan,” he murmured and kissed her forehead. “I am glad to be with you.”

“And I'm glad you're here,” she replied and kissed his chin. “Thank you.”

He smiled and gestured for her to enter the eluvian. “You first, my heart.”

She nodded and walked through the shimmering glass.

She recognized the room immediately. Light from the eluvian lit up the dark closet where the mirror was being stored in Skyhold. Solas followed her and closed the eluvian behind him with seemingly no effort. They both approached the door that led to the garden. She hesitated.

“They're going to be so mad,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed.

She chuckled. She felt like a child scared to come out of hiding after breaking some family heirloom, or punching a sibling in the face. “No point in delaying it.”

She opened the door, and the bitterness of the cold mountain wind hit her immediately. The garden of the Skyhold hadn't changed in the weeks they'd been gone, and it didn't seem like the Inquisition was in shambles. It was a strange feeling. As much as she hated the Inquisition and being the Inquisitor, a part of her still hated knowing she would not be in Skyhold anymore. Or maybe she was just sad at the fact she couldn't have free drinks from the tavern. She wasn't sure.

She kept her head down and walked in the archway that went around the garden and opened the door to the main hall. The guards stationed at the door obviously recognized her and stepped back in shock, but they said nothing as she walked off across the main hall to the rotunda. She and Solas went up the stairwell to the library, then climbed up the next one to the rookery. Leliana was speaking to an agent as they approached, but the Spymaster saw them immediately and dropped whatever desperate missive needed her attention.

“Inquisitor! What are you doing here? Where have you two been?” Leliana asked and pushed her way past the agent who was staring, dumbfounded. “You just left. Without telling anyone!”

“Bull and Dorian knew,” she replied.

Leliana sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Those two are far too good actors. Where did you go? We couldn't find a single trail to follow, and no one saw any sign of you on any of the roads.”

“We went south. I hoped the vague letter I left in my quarters and my sudden disappearance made the fact that I wanted to be left alone obvious. And I no longer will carry the title of Inquisitor.”

“No longer be the—but why? The Inquisition still needs you, whether you like it or not.”

“It doesn't need me. I'm just one, impatient Dalish woman who would rather keel over and die than hold a position of power.”

“Where did this come from? You seemed so content to be here until you vanished without a trace. At first we thought you went with Varric, but he swore he never saw you two—”

“He actually did see us. We hopped on his ride.”

Leliana sighed. “That dwarf, I swear— it doesn't matter now. You were gone, and then we realized Solas vanished along with you, and some people became skeptical about the Inquisitor disappearing with an enigmatic apostate that we know nothing about.” She looked to Solas. “I also know everything you told me in Haven about you was a lie. I had been investigating what you told us in the last two months. The village you said you were from is nothing but a ruin in a far corner of Tevinter.”

“I did not lie. It was my village, once,” he replied, voice completely calm. “I simply left out certain details.”

“'Once?' It is a ruin, mentioned only in forgotten Tevene lore.”

“And I am very old, Spymaster.”

Her eyes widened in realization. “You are like the elves at the Temple. You are one of the ancient elves, from before . . .”

“Yes.”

The Spymaster's head snapped back to Lavellan. “You knew?!”

“I only learned recently,” she replied. “And it wasn't my information to share.”

“We don't have time to worry about this right now,” Leliana mumbled and walked forward. “Why did you leave? Rumors are already spreading in Orlais and Ferelden.”

“I don't want to be a member of the Inquisition. Corypheus is defeated and the rifts are closed. There's no reason for me to still be here. Besides, I lost the one thing that made me useful to you.” She stuck out her left hand, showing the scar with no Anchor.

Leliana looked as though she was about to throw up. “How . . .?”

“The Anchor was a parasite,” Solas said. “It would have, in time, festered and killed her. I had to remove it.”

“What? How do you know this?”

Solas looked at Lavellan, his expression unreadable. She knew he probably didn't want her to know about the entire 'Anchor actually being his, caused the Conclave explosion' thing. She looked back at the Spymaster.

“We didn't come here to talk about this. I only came here because an agent spotted us at the Temple of Mythal, and I needed to talk to you before his message reached you. Gods know what the thing is going to say. Also to tell you that I'm leaving and never coming back.” She finished that last sentence with a smile.

“What?”

“And it's pointless to try to convince me otherwise. The position of Inquisitor is a prison cell. And I refuse to be stuck here any more.”

With that, she turned around and pulled Solas with her down the stairs. Leliana continued to follow them.

“So you're just leaving? Abandoning everything we worked up to until now?” Leliana asked.

“Yes,” she replied and continued down the other flight of stairs. “Solas, get what you want and meet me by the gardens in ten minutes.”

“Of course,” he replied and walked off to the desk in the rotunda.

Lavellan walked out to the main hall with Leliana still on her back.

“There's nothing you can say that can make me want to stay,” she said as she walked up the stairwell to her room.

At that, Leliana huffed and walked off back to the main hall. Probably to go get Josephine and the Commander. Wonderful. She walked into her old room and was surprised to see it completely untouched. She walked to the desk and dropped her pack down, emptying it of her dirty clothes. She got new clothes from the dresser to replace what she dumped out, and grabbed a large bag with a mixture of sovereign and royal coins in it. She grabbed two fiction books she never had the time to read and dropped them in the pack as well.

She looked over to the lute sitting on the floor, dusty and neglected. It was way to big to bring it along, and that made her more depressed than she would have liked to admit. She threw on the pack and looked around the room. She grabbed a dozen arrows out of a crate in the corner of the room and refilled her quiver. She restrung her bow before putting it back on her shoulder. She walked out of the room and ran down the tower to the main hall, and went through the basement to the kitchen.

There she snatched a loaf of bread and a rather large chunk of cheese and dried meats. She refilled her waterskin, grabbed an apple, and ran out the kitchens as the other door opened and she heard the voice of the main cook. She walked through the basement and back up to the main hall. Then, the main doors from the courtyard opened, and there approached her doom.

“Lady Lavellan,” Josephine shouted and approached her. Leliana and Cullen followed her.

“No,” she replied and continued walking past them. “Whatever you're going to ask, my answer is no. I am not staying to be a figurehead.”

“Inquisitor, please. The soldiers, the men, they follow you. You're a symbol of the people. Without you, the Inquisition might crumble under its own weight,” Cullen said, and that made her stop and turn around to face them.

“When I joined, I said I would stay 'until the threat is over.' When I was forced into becoming Inquisitor, I said 'I'll stay until Corypheus is defeated.' And he is defeated, and the threat is over. I am leaving.”

“None of chose for any of this to happen. I certainly didn't expect to become the commander of one of the most powerful armies in southern Thedas, but I don't just leave. I can't.”

“You have been military organizations since you were a child, Commander, and a part of you enjoys leading your men and being a commander,” she replied. “I am a Dalish. I grew up free to roam the wilds and hunt and explore. I am done leading. With Corypheus dead, what is the point of me staying? I was only ever useful because of the mark on my hand which is no longer there.”

“No longer—it is gone?” Josephine asked.

“Yes,” she replied, “Solas removed it at my request. And so now I am leaving with him, to live my own life as I would like to. Thank you very much.” She continued to the gardens.

“Lady Lavellan, please,” Josephine continued. “The political situation in Thedas is already fickle as it is. With the Inquisitor leaving, us replacing you will only further upset the political sphere.”

“Not my responsibility, Josephine. And I'm not completely vanishing. You'll no doubt be hearing about me in the next couple of years.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oops, said too much. Forget that.”

“What? Inquisitor, wait—” Josephine stopped as Lavellan opened the door to the room with the eluvian in it.

The mirror was active and waiting to be used. Solas was already there, leaning against the wall.

“The eluvian,” Leliana realized. “Inquisitor—”

“Bye!” she said and walked through the mirror.

Last thing she heard was Josephine shouting her first name. _There's a first for everything_ , she thought to herself.

She was alone for only two seconds before Solas stepped through. He deactivated the eluvian as soon as he was able, and he turned around to face her.

“Judging by their faces, I think it would be best not to see them again for a while,” he commented.

“I did kind of blow them off.”

“I never saw Josephine look livid before,”

She sighed and rubbed her head. “They would've never agreed to the idea of me leaving. If I didn't force myself out, they would have guilted me into staying. Which I refuse.”

He hummed. “So, where to now?”

She rubbed her forehead. “Somewhere I can lie down and not get up until I want to.”

Solas stared at the surrounding eluvians. After a minute of silence, he looked back to her with a smile. “I know somewhere. It should still be accessible.”

“Huh? Where?”

“In a place similar to the crossroads. It was a retreat for me when I was younger and needed moments for myself, outside of the realm of dreams. It can only be reached from one eluvian, and even then, it can only be activated by a passphrase.”

“How far to it?”

“No more than an hour. Come,” he said and pulled her along.

They passed through the eluvian they came from before, and continued down the spiraling paths. The time passed quickly, and then they passed through another eluvian. They came out into a decaying tower. The roof was gone, and vines were growing up the walls. The sun shined brightly into the room. In the circular room stood five eluvians, including the one they just passed through. He approached the smallest of the mirrors and spoke to it.

“ _Ma hamin'an._ ”

He smiled as the eluvian opened.

“My place of rest,” she repeated.

He held out his hand. “Come, Atisha.”

She took his hand and followed him as he stepped through the mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go, Lavellan. Verbally bull rush those advisors.


	7. Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw in chapter
> 
> well, me being crippled after a motorcycle accident gave me the time to write another chapter for this
> 
> i hope to start releasing longer chapters from here on out. again, thanks for all the nice comments.

The eluvian led them to a small room, and judging by the heat and darkness, it must have been underground. The mirror deactivated when they passed through, and Solas lit a veilfire sconce on the wall. The only thing in the room was the eluvian, and a narrow staircase that went—she guessed—to the surface. Solas started up the stairs and gestured for her to follow.

It took almost a minute before they reached the surface. The only way out was to push through a small hole overgrown with vines and grass. Sunlight was shining through. Solas went first, ducking under the stone. She followed, trying not to cut her hands on the dense grass. The light stung at first, after being in the dark for so long, but her eyes adjusted, and she saw what waited them.

The hole led them to the side of a hill, in a large valley with mountains more verdant than any she had seen before. The setting sun cast orange tinted light across the meadows, lighting up the grass and patches of flowers that covered the floor of the valley for as far as the eye could see. She noticed there were no trees, or birds, and she could hear almost no insects chirping. The mountain wind was cool, but it was by no means like the cold that barraged the south in Thedas. She also noticed how thin the air was, and she found herself having to take deep breaths.

In the centre of the valley stood a small pavilion.

“It's beautiful,” she said. She smiled. It truly was.

She looked at Solas, but he did not look happy. He was ruminating. He had been brooding far too much in the last few days, and it did nothing but worry her. She took his hand, and only then did he look at her. He did not smile.

“Solas?”

He sighed. “I apologize. I have been thinking about . . .”

“Mythal?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

She squeezed his hand. “Let's go. We can rest, and we can talk about . . .”

“Let's,” he replied and squeezed her hand in return.

The grass was up to her waist in some parts, and multiple times she tripped on holes and dips she couldn't see. He knew the land much better than her, seemingly never losing his footing once despite the fact that the grass blocked their view of the ground. She looked up. Clouds started drifting in from the east—if directions such as east and west could be used in such a place.

It didn't take long to reach the structure. It was a large stone pavilion. She climbed the three steps up to the platform, and it shocked her. It didn't look like a building that had been abandoned for thousands of years. The furniture was all in pristine condition. There was a desk and a chair, and a small bookcase and chest next to the table. On the other side sat a small bed with perfectly folded white sheets. The furniture, as well as the columns and arches, had complex engravings of vines and forestry. White curtains hung in the arches, giving the structure the illusion of being a private room.

He walked in behind her and stopped to stare.

“I never thought I would see this place again,” he said and walked to the desk. She followed.

On the desk was a pile of notes held down by a small stone. The papers were covered with hastily written Elven characters. She glanced at one of the sheets.

“They're about removing the vallaslin?”

“Yes.”

He stared at the papers for a moment before walking towards the bed and picking up a book on the nightstand. She stood behind him and looked at it. It was a sketchbook. He opened it. The first page was a charcoal drawing of a forest. He flipped through the book, revealing dozens of graphite and charcoal drawings. He stopped at the last page. It was the portrait of an Elven woman. Her skin was dark and her hair long and voluminous. She wore a circlet, and the designs of the jewelry adorning her told her who the woman was.

“It's Mythal,” she said.

“Yes.”

“She was beautiful.”

“She was,” he said and closed the book.

He placed it back on the table and sat on the edge of the bed. She joined him.

“I killed her,” he said, his voice cracking. “I killed her and I cannot forgive myself.”

“Oh, Solas,” she whispered and turned his head towards her. He was crying. “I'm sorry.”

“I know why we had to. I know why, but—” He shut his eyes and covered his mouth.

“Solas,” she said and took his hands.

He shattered. He leaned against her and sobbed. She wrapped her arms around his back and held him against her. He wailed. He clung to her and wept.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“She was a friend. Even with everything that happened, we were still friends once.” His grip on her tightened. “To see such a beautiful Elvhen, twisted and corrupted by power, only to die in a human body by my own hand, I . . .”

He quieted. He looked at her, his face wrecked with tears. She kissed his cheek and he brought her lips to his.

He sighed when she broke the kiss. “Was approaching her for help a mistake?” he asked. “If we waited, would she still be . . .”

“I don't know.” She tightened her arms around him.

His tears started again and he buried his face against her neck in some failing attempt to silence his whimpers. “Forgive me.”

She said nothing.

His tears only stopped after the sun had set and he fell asleep on the bed. She lit a candle and sat at the desk, with the copy of Swords and Shields she convinced Varric to write for Cassandra. It was a pleasing distraction. The writing was awful and the way Varric described sensual scenes was truly horrendous.

The book was a work of art.

She looked over to Solas. He was still asleep, most likely walking the Fade for a moment of respite, which she understood. She was tempted to sleep and join him, but after losing the Anchor, she couldn't manipulate dreams at all anymore without Solas' help. She placed the book down after marking her page and dug through her pack.

“Atisha,” he whispered.

She looked over her shoulder. She smiled and stood up, walking to the bed and sitting by his side as he sat up. “Solas,” she replied. “You were asleep for a long time. Are you feeling any better?”

“I am. I . . .” He took her hands. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“What?”

“I mean, through all of this. When I told you who I was—what I had done. You had every reason to hate me. But you stayed. You stayed.”

“Is it so surprising? You know how much I care about you.”

“It is not, but . . .” He sighed. “After being alone for so long—after being despised for so long, the idea that someone I love would stay with me, even knowing everything I did. Even knowing how much blood is on my hands. You forgave me.”

She smiled. “I did.” She pulled him forward and kissed him. “Because I love you.”

He let out a shuddering breath and pulled her into a tight hug. She giggled as he pulled her down over him on the bed, and he clung to her. He held onto her as though she was a lifeline. She rubbed his scalp and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

“Can I tell you why I love you?”

She felt his smile as he kissed her jaw. “You may,” he replied and tightened his arms around her waist.

“The way you snort when you laugh.”

“I do not,” he declared.

Her smile grew and she pulled her head back, staring down at him. “Your voice is nice as well.” She traced his cheekbones. “I love your wisdom and your stories. I love your skepticism.”

“You consider me a skeptic?” he asked, his mouth curving into a smile.

“We both are. It's not a negative thing.” She traced the edges of his scar on his forehead. “I love you for your snarky comments and your sharp tongue.” She kissed his nose. “I love everything about you.”

He smiled. “Thank you, vhenan.” He looked as though he was on the verge of tears.

He flipped them over. He crushed his lips against hers and ran his hands down her waist. When he started speaking, she felt her face burn red.

“I love your compassion,” he said. His kissed her neck. “I love how you are selfless. I love your thoughtfulness. I love your determination.” He moved her hands when she attempted to hide her blushing face. “I love how you dare to think.”

She was overwhelmed. She smiled and started laughing out of pure bliss. He kissed her cheeks and her lips and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. It was too much. She was overwhelmed by love and happiness and bliss. She was with him, and would always be with him. He, who was so wonderful. She wanted to be with him forever. She wanted to experience everything with him.

And before she could think, she opened her mouth.

“Solas,” she said. He hummed and kissed her neck. “Solas, will you bond with me?”

He looked up, slack jawed and eyes wide.

“Solas, will you be my bond-mate?”

He said nothing. Something in him snapped and he kissed her. He devoured her and broke the kiss only when they had to breathe. He pressed his face against her neck.

“Yes. Vhenan, yes, yes.”

“I don't know when we'll be able to arrange the ceremony—if ever, but I—I want to be with you forever. In this world, and whatever the next is.”

He attempted to say her name again, but it came out as a choking sound and he kissed her until she had to pull back from lightheadedness.

He kissed her jaw and his hands descended to her hips, and to her ass. He pressed their hips together and she bit back a whine. They had never laid together. She never wanted to. Sex had been ruined for her in her youth, and she still carried that fear in the back of her head. But she didn't care. It was Solas. He would never hurt her. Never. He moved their hips together again and she felt his arousal through his leggings.

“Vhenan, do you—I do not wish to pressure you.”

“No,” she said. She tightened her arms around his back. “Don't stop.”

He didn't. He pulled her hips against his and he breathed in her gasps and moans as he brought his hands to her breasts and messaged and squeezed the soft flesh.

“Sorry they're small,” she said.

“They are perfect,” he stated.

He started unbuttoning her shirt and kissing the skin that showed. She sighed. “You think?”

“It is not an opinion. It is a fact.”

He kissed one of the pink tips, and she felt a fire burn in her lower stomach. She tugged on his shirt and amulet. He chuckled as she hastily pulled his shirt off and he gasped when her hands drifted to his hipbone. They both took off their clothing until their skin was pressed together, their fingers intertwined and lips crashing together.

She gasped when he entered her, more pain than anything else. But she adjusted to him and relaxed and he moved, and it was wonderful. She kissed him and whispered kind and loving words into his ears as he pressed deeper into her, his lips against her neck. They were so close, and not nearly close enough. She wrapped her legs around his back and he started thrusting in earnest.

It was overwhelming, and so perfectly wonderful. He murmured in her ear jumbled Elven words. Things she couldn't understand, but she knew perfectly what he meant. He worshiped her body and she caressed his in return, running her hands down his neck and back.

She came first, his deft fingers just barely touching her bundle of nerves. She arched back and let out a moan that she would normally consider embarrassing. Then he reached his own climax, gasping her name as he spilt himself in her. But he didn't stop. His hands quickened on her and she was coming again, her entire body shaking from the overstimulation.

He pressed one final kiss to her jaw and looked at her, and she realized he was crying. Tears silently rolled down his cheeks and she grabbed him, turning them both over so she was half draped on his body. She kissed his cheeks and rubbed his tears away. He was smiling and his eyes threatened to close any moment.

“I love you, Atisha,” he said. He held her head and kissed her. “My heart.”

“I love you too,” she said when she pressed one final kiss to his lips and laid her head on his shoulder. She felt a sweet ache in her muscles, and she was happy. “My heart.”

He tightened his arm around her back and ran a finger through her crimson hair. They lay like that for nearly an hour before the Fade claimed them. There, they spent what felt like days together and simply talked and loved. He kissed her, and she asked him again—if he really wanted to bond. To be her bond-mate. He said yes. He repeated it as he crashed their lips together and they woke up as the sun was rising, only to make love once more before they had to rise for the day.

She slipped into a clean pair of small-clothes and pulled on a tunic. She put on her pants that lay discarded on the floor and put her soaked smalls and dirty shirt in her pack. She realized how hungry she was from not eating supper the previous evening, and she ate the apple she threw in the bag the last minute and watched Solas rise from the bed.

She didn't mean to stare when he dressed, but she did.

His butt was wonderful.

They lingered there for only about an hour before they readied themselves to leave. She pulled on her coat, knowing the second they reached Orlais she would be freezing again. Solas stared at the portrait he drew of Mythal for a moment before they left, but he left the book where it was and he took her hand as they left, a smile plastered on both of their faces.

The reached the cave with the eluvian, and she readjusted her bow and slipped on a pair of actual shoes.

“So,” she started and locked her arm with his, “to Halamshiral?”


	8. Halamshiral

He smiled and kissed her hair. “Let’s go.”

He activated the eluvian and walked through it, Atisha still hanging on his arm. Halamshiral had many eluvians in it, hidden away or just forgotten, but Briala had control of all of them, last he heard from his agents. He wanted to avoid overriding the passcode that Briala put in place when he could. Bypassing it was exhausting, his power alone was barely enough to do it.

They passed through two open eluvians before they reached the familiar floating pathways that made up most of the Crossroads. It would take them a while to reach an eluvian in Briala’s network, but that was fine. The Crossroads were pleasing to be in, and time to spend alone with his heart was something he welcomed. They walked for hours, their arms locked together and sharing stories to pass the time.

She told him about how she had earned her vallaslin in her youth. Her clan unknowingly camped near an ancient ruin that had obviously been disturbed recently and how a few demons decided to approach their camp one night, intrigued by the sudden presence of living beings. She was the only hunter on watch that evening, and she had to singlehandedly take down three rage demons before others heard and responded to the sounds of fighting. It was the first time he had seen her speak of her clan without any sadness in her voice since Wycome.

She was so happy. She clung to him like a lovesick child and her smile was utterly contagious. She would kiss him at random—just pecks on the cheek—and he would feel his face light up.

A bond-mate was something the Dalish kept from the Elvhen. It was never something he expected himself to have, but he didn’t expect a lot of things. The next time she shifted up to kiss his face he took her in his arms and crashed their lips together until they were both flushed red and breathing heavily. He knew they shouldn’t tarry, but he didn’t care. He kissed her again, slowly and gently, savoring the taste of her mouth as he explored it. He cupped her rear and pressed his lips to the underside of her jaw.

“We should really be going, Sol—ah!”

She smacked his hands away when he pinched her butt and she kept walking.

“You’re awful,” she said.

“I apologize for my inability to ignore your beauty, vhenan.”

She stared at him, her jaw going slack. Then she burst into a fit of giggles and continued, covering her red cheeks. He laughed and kissed her hair as they continued through the Crossroads.

“Your turn, Solas. You have any stories to share?”

He had to think. He stared ahead. He had so many stories, but most were not happy, if not downright depressing. His life, for thousands of years, was consumed by constant strife and conflict and petty squabbles. There were some uplifting ones, but the negative outweighed the positive so much that he found himself unable to recall them.

But he smiled as he remembered one.

“Once, when I was very young, no more than twenty, I spent almost a year straight in the form of a wolf. I spent most of my time alone, wandering the forests surrounding my village.”

“A year? You never shifted at all?”

“No. I enjoy the freedom that being a shapeshifter gives me. But I remember one morning, I woke up to a small child poking me with a stick. I recognized her from the village. She must have thought I was a simple dog, because she threw at my feet a piece of cured meat. Poor child wanted to bring me home.”

Atisha smiled. “That’s actually really adorable.”

“I entertained her for a while before her parents stumbled upon us. They recognized the white wolf that their child was playing with and I proceeded to get scolded. The girl nearly cried when she realized she wouldn’t be getting a dog.”

She chuckled. “You need to show me one day. Your wolf form, I mean.”

“Forms. Plural.”

“Eh?”

“When I grew older and became more proficient at magic, I managed to develop two forms. A small, white wolf, and . . .” He looked at the path in front of them. “The murals you see in ruins of a snarling, six eyed beast are accurate depictions of the other.”

The Dread Wolf. It was not something he was proud of anymore.

She squeezed his hand and he brought his gaze back up to her. A soft smile graced her lips, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She kissed his nose.

“Still, I want to see it some time. Being a shapeshifter sounds so cool! I was always jealous of my brother and father. They’re so talented at it. Shifting.”

He remembered her brother. Her brother and their father were at Skyhold for a short time after Wycome. He did not get along with her brother at all, but her father seemed to like him a lot. ‘Good for my daughter,’ the man said. He was still not quite sure why he thought that.

“I’ll be sure to show you sometime.”

She kissed his nose again and his smile grew. “Come on. Let’s go.”

They went. She hummed as they continued down the path, and it was such a nice thing to listen to as they walked those floating paths. It took them only a couple of more hours to reach the eluvian that was connected to the network Briala had control over. They could go almost anywhere in southern Thedas with only a step—and a notable amount of power. The less they forced themselves through Briala’s eluvians, the better.

He put his hand against the cool glass and forced it to open. As it shimmered open, Atisha took the bow off her back and threw it off of the floating paths into the white abyss below.

“Vhenan?”

“You can’t walk around Halamshiral as an elf with a weapon. A Dalish could, but without my vallaslin, I’ll appear no different than the city elves.” She removed her quiver and tossed it off as well. “Also, speaking of weapons, why’d you stop using your staff?”

“I’ve no need for a stave now.”

She hummed and unsheathed her knife, holding it against her hand. “Too long?”

He tilted his head. “Pardon?”

“You don’t know much about alienages and Elven slums, do you?”

“I’ve no personal experience with any, no.”

“General rule: any blade longer than one’s hand aren’t allowed. But I’m not giving up my dagger.” She put the dagger and the scabbard inside her coat, tying the laces further up. “An unarmed elf in the city is a something I’ve no intention of being.”

She dropped her scabbard with her short-sword and kicked it off the path. She turned back to him with a smile. “All ready?”

“I believe so,” he said as she took his hand.

She smiled and he followed her as she stepped through.

It had to be in a closet. Of all the places the eluvian could have been, it was a cramped closet.

“Shit,” she said. He said nothing.

He was pressing on her against the wall, and there was hardly and room to go anywhere. There was a door that acted as a wall, and Atisha started moving her hands around the wood in an attempt to find a switch or lever. He deactivated the eluvian and she found a lever. The wall shifted and she fell on her face when the door swung open.

He looked up. It was a wall in a tavern, behind the bar. The bartender and the four patrons sitting there stared at them, forgetting their card game. Solas immediately recognized three of them.

Of all the people that could have been there—

“Da’len?”

Atisha looked up at the older man who spoke, rubbing her forehead. “Papae?” She stood up and fixed her coat. A moment of silence. “Shit.”

“Where in the Void did you come from?” he said and stood up from the bar. He looked at the eluvian behind them, in the hidden room, and looked at Solas. “You two with Briala?”

“You know about her?” she asked as she walked up to her father and pulled him into a tight hug.

The old man smiled, the branches of Mythal’s vallaslin on his cheeks curving up. “I’ve been busy since Wycome—” Atisha tensed up and clung onto him. The man sighed and kissed her forehead before stepping back. “I’ve been trying to help our city-cousins since I left Skyhold.”

“Where’s Fesil?”

“Your brother went off to find a clan.”

“You didn’t go with him?”

“I am old, da’len. I’ve no desire to integrate into another clan. The others are much different than Lavellan. I find myself missing—” Her face twisted. He stopped. “I apologize. The loss of our clan still weighs heavy in you.” He looked back to Solas. “It is good to see you again, falon.”

“And you as well, Oriel.” he replied.

Her father went and leaned against the bar. Solas stared at the two women sitting next to him, and they stared back. The two were dreamers. Agents of his before he abandoned his course and left his agents to go back to their own lives. They looked horribly livid.

“Friends of yours?” her father asked when he noticed their glares.

“Harellan,” one of them spat.

“Or not.”

The one who spoke was an Elvhen. Born long before the creation of the Veil. He switched to Elvish as he spoke. “ _Child, this is not a conversation we may have here._ ”

“Sure it is,” she said and stood up, not bothering to change tongues.

“ _I know you are angry with me, and were I you, I would feel the same. But this is not the time nor place._ ”

“Then what is? You abandoned the People for one thin-blooded rabbit!”

Atisha stared, realizing what the conversation was about. She spoke. “You don’t know why he did what he did, da’len. Relax.”

“You!” the elf said and stood up, approaching her. “You dare call me—” Oriel stood up and blocked her way.

“I don’t know what your beef is with my daughter, but if you so much as touch her, I’ll rip your throat out.”

The threat quieted the room for a moment. Solas stepped forward, pulling Oriel back and grabbing the elf by her shoulder.

“That is enough. You two,” he said, gaze snapping to the two former agents, “come outside, and we shall speak. Oriel, calm yourself.”

Solas pulled the two agents out of the tavern into the slums and Atisha was left standing there with her father, and a confused bartender and drunkard. She looked at him.

“So, continuing, you have access to the eluvians. You’re with Briala?”

“No, but me and Solas are trying to find her.”

“Wrong city. She’s in Val Royeaux. Attempting to get more agents and contacts. And may I ask, Da’len, what happened to your vallaslin?”

She hesitated. “I had them removed.”

He stared. “Why?”

“Long story. A story I want to tell you. Can we sit?”

He nodded and she pulled them to a table in the far end of the tavern. She took off her coat and wrapped her dagger in it before she fell back into the wooden seat.

“How’ve you been, da’len?” he asked.

“I’ve been good, Papae. I—” She smiled. “You should be the first to know. Solas and I are going to be bonded. We don’t know when, but . . .” Her smile grew and her father looked content.

“He truly makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. He does. I am happier than I have ever been with him.”

“And I still want to hear about your vallaslin, child.”

She hesitated. She pulled on her hair. “You’ve always been open minded, papae. You aren’t rash, and you always like to know both sides of the story. That’s why so many of us in the clan went to you when there was a squabble.”

“And?”

“And I need you to be open minded for what I am about to tell you.”

He leaned back in his chair, legs crossing. “I understand.”

“Solas removed my vallaslin.”

“Where does a city elf learn to remove a Dalish vallaslin? They are enchanted, very hard to remove.”

“He’s not a city elf. I wrote to you, about the Elvhen we saw in the Arbor Wilds. Elves, neither city nor Dalish. Elves from the time of ancient Arlathan.”

His eyes widened. “You mean . . .”

“Solas is like them. He is immortal. He is ancient, even by their standards. And he told me about the vallaslin. They were originally slave markings. Back during Elvhenan. So I wanted them gone.”

“He is immortal,” he repeated. “How did an ancient elf end up in the Inquisition?”

She played with the laces of her blouse. “In his time, he led a rebellion against cruel tyrants. He is not ‘an’ ancient elf. He is . . .” She looked up. “What was that saying that Mamae said. ‘Beware the many forms of Fen’Harel?’”

“Beware the forms of Fen’Harel,” he started. “The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises: a wanderer that knows much of the People and their spirits—” His eyes widened. “You don’t mean he is—”

“Papae,” she said. She stuck out her hands and held his. He was scowling. “I’ll explain to you everything from the beginning. I’ll tell you who he is. Who Fen’Harel was.”

He hesitated. Regardless of how open-minded her father was, he was still Dalish to the core. He looked at his feet.

“You are telling me Fen’Harel walks the earth as a wanderer.” He inhaled. “A god. That we are in the presence of a creator. That you are to be bonded with the god of Trickery.”

“Not a god. He is not divine. Please, Papae. Listen.”

He glared at her. “You better make it quick, Atisha.”

She did.

Solas walked back in several minutes later. He felt a small cut on his cheek bleed, but he ignored it and approached the table where Atisha and Oriel sat. The old man stared at him when he neared them.

“Solas,” her father said.

“Have I missed something?” he asked, noticing the attitude in the old man’s voice.

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” Atisha said and grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. “I told him about who you were.”

He sat and looked at Oriel. “Considering the fact you have not tried to strike me down, I would say it went well—”

He stopped as Atisha took a handkerchief and pressed it against his bleeding cheek.

“I’m still very skeptical, Solas,” her father said.

“I understand.” He looked at Atisha when she removed the cloth. “Thank you, vhenan.”

“I always tried to tell my father everything. He is the one person who I have always been honest to.” She shifted in her seat. “I’m sorry if I broke your trust. I should have thought about it more . . .”

“Vhenan,” he said and smiled as he looked to her father. “You are thoughtful and kind, hahren. I’ve no issue with you knowing who I once was.”

“And who are you now, exactly?” Oriel asked.

“I am a wanderer who wants what’s best for the People of this world. A man who is lucky enough to say that . . .” He paused for a moment. He smiled and glanced at his heart. “Who is lucky to say he has everything he needs.”

Atisha smiled.

Oriel sighed. “I am too old to even argue with that. Frankly, it’s late and I’m tired. You two want to sleep in my place?”

“You have a home? In the slums?” she asked.

“I do. Small, but enough room for two more.”

“Thank you. We would be grateful if you took us in for a night.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

They all stood up and the bartender stared at them as they left. The last patron now had his head against the bar, his snoring rumbling through the room.

“I imagine he’s gonna tell Briala,” she said as they stepped out into an alley. “The bartender, that is.”

“Yes. One of her most trustworthy contacts in Halamshiral.”

They walked down the alley onto a road. The poverty was obvious. The slums were filthy, and people could be seen sleeping in alleys and dark places. People were still up, but the city-elves avoided them, and he assumed it was because of Oriel. Vallaslin marked him a Dalish. They considered him to be from legend. And everyone raised in a human city has heard the lies and rumors the humans create about the Dalish.

He had seen an alienage while in the Free Marches, and this was nothing like it. In the Marches and Ferelden, the alienages were poor, but never gave the impression of being dead, or being completely and utterly oppressed. The people were alive. But in Orlais, from what he had seen in Val Royeaux, and now Halamshiral, the pain and oppression was painfully obvious.

Oriel led them to another alley and into a doorway. The went up two flights of stairs and down a hallway. He had to get used to the stench of mildew and rot. They passed three doors and Oriel unlocked the next. The room was small. The kitchen was crammed in one corner, and in the other corner was a bed. There was a sad excuse for a sofa and a small bookshelf, and crates lined one of the walls. The door locked behind them when they entered and Oriel collapsed on the bed.

“Papae,” Atisha started as she put her coat and pack down by the sofa, “is there a washroom?”

“Door by the stove.”

“Thanks.” She took his hand. “Come with me, Solas.”

He followed her as she pulled him along. She lit a candle by the stove and brought it into the room as she pulled him in. They both pulled off their clothes and she made him sit on the stone ground. There were two buckets of water and she pulled one to them. He warmed the water. She kneeled in front of him with a wet rag and pressed it against the cut on his cheek.

“You OK?”

He leaned into her touch. “My former agents are less than pleased with my decision to not attempt to restore Elvhenan.”

“Ah,” she hummed and moved the cloth. She gave it to him and pulled the other bucket closer, as well as retrieving a bar of soap and another rag. “Well, my father told me Briala is currently in Val Royeaux, attempting to get more agents.”

“She is busy, then.” He rubbed soap onto the rag and started scrubbing his arms. “Val Royeaux is a large city. Hard to find one elf.”

“Yes, but the alienage is one of the smallest in Thedas. Everyone knows each other.” He forced himself to look away as she started cleaning her chest.

“Smallest?”

“Elves in Val Royeaux are among the most oppressed in Thedas. It’s disgusting, how they’re crammed into that tiny alienage. But enough of that. Are your former agents going to pull any other stunts like this?”

“I do not know.”

“Do they have the capability to do something drastic? I mean . . . if they were willing to tear down the Veil with you, they have the ability to be drastic.”

“That is my worry.”

He sighed and continued rubbing soap and against his skin.

“Solas.”

“Yes, vhenan?”

“Are you . . .”

He turned his head when she stopped. She sat there, staring at the bucket of soapy water in front of her.

“We are . . . this world. It’s so different from the one you lived in. Are you . . . can you be truly happy here?”

“Do you remember what I told your father? ‘I am a man lucky enough to say he has everything he needs.’” He scooted closer to her. “A world where I have my heart is enough. And we are going to help the People. I could want for nothing. You must never doubt this.”

Her eyes lit up. She leaned over and kissed his nose. “Let’s hurry up. I’m tired.”

He kissed her forehead. “All right.”

They managed to cram themselves both on the couch when they were done. Half of her body was draped over his when they finally managed to get comfortable. She traced invisible lines along his jaw as she started to doze off, and he clung onto her.

“Shall we go to the Fade?”

She smiled in response. “I think I’d like that.”

She kissed his jaw and within a couple of minutes she was drooling on his shoulder. He wrapped both of his arms around her and pressed her against him. He quickly followed her into the Fade, a faint smile forming on his lips.

_Wake up._

She was over him, a plate of food in her hands. “You’ve hardly eaten anything lately.”

He stirred and sat up. His back was sore from the sad sofa, but his mind still lingered on the dreams he had hours earlier. He looked at the plate. Bread, meat, cheese. Not his first or second choice, but he had neglected eating within the last couple of days. And he knew if he refused, he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“All right.” She smiled and sat next to him. He looked around the room. “Where’s Oriel? What time is it?”

“It’s late in the morning. Papae left to do some work. Due to his vagueness, I don’t want to know by what he meant by that. We need to leave soon for Val Royeaux.”

He tore a piece of bread off from the loaf and picked the mildest cheese on the plate to put on top. “Do you have any idea to what Briala is doing there?”

“Nope. I hope to find out,” she said as she stuffed a much-too-big piece of buttered bread in her mouth. She picked up a copy of Varric’s ‘Swords and Shields’ and began reading it.

He picked at his food, mostly. He had close to no appetite, and dried foods were never appealing. The cheese was good, and he ate enough so that she wouldn’t worry about his health. He smiled. He was not used to another person truly caring and looking out for his general well being.

But she did. She loved him and cared about him and he knew he would never get used to the feeling of knowing that. The feeling of utter and complete loneliness he had to withstand in the Fade had all but numbed his need for socialization, but she’d managed to tear down every wall he’d built around himself. She loved him. His beautiful, caring heart. She gave him everything she could, mentally and physically. He smiled as he remembered their night before. She gave himself to her, and he to she.

He was near tears. He put the plate down and grabbed her jaw, pulling her into a chaste kiss. She threw the book aside and peppered his face with kisses. She put her head on his shoulder and hugged him.

“Love you too, Solas.”

He smiled.

She pulled away and took his hands in hers. She stopped. She made eye contact with him, her expression amused.

“What?” he asked.

She snickered and pushed their hands down against his groin and—oh.

“I apologize—” He felt his face burn. “I was so deep in my thoughts, I did not realize . . .”

She kissed him. “Cute man.”

He stared as she stood up and walked to where she’d thrown off her shoes.

Beautiful woman.

They left shortly after, her hand holding his. She was optimistic about them finding Briala, and it was a contagious optimism. They walked out of the apartments and into the streets. People were walking the streets, going to work and tending to their own private business. The slums seemed much more alive now that it was daytime, but the area was still depressing.

He never saw it personally how bad it could be.

They went to the tavern where they stumbled out of the eluvian and the barkeep was still there. A few rowdy elves sat in a corner eating breakfast. The bartender stared at them as he was wiping mugs clean. He nodded to them and pointed to the wall with the hidden closet. The door was cracked open.

They thanked him and Atisha opened the door. He activated the eluvian before turning back to the barkeep.

“I’m guessing Briala will know we were here.”

“Yep. And that you somehow have access to her mirror-things.”

He nodded and turned to the mirror. Atisha stepped through the eluvian and he tightened his belt as he approached the mirror. He’d personally had enough of walking and hopping between locations recently, and was patiently waiting for the time they could sit and relax for more than twelve hours at a time. He turned his head back when he heard the bartender shout a curse.

An arrow whirred past his ear, chipping a piece of flesh. He stared at the woman who fired. It was the elf from last night. Two other elves were with her.

He looked back at the mirror. It was shattered.

“You—” he started and walked forward. “Do you know what you have done?!”

“You abandoned us, just like you abandoned the People. Many of us gave up our lives to join you. We refuse to be discarded and forgotten.”

“I have no time for this,” he hissed and snapped his head to the barkeep. “Where is another eluvian?”

“In—

Before the barkeep could speak, the elf drew another arrow and shot the man in the heart.

He felt his ear. A small piece was missing from the tip, and blood trickled down the skin. He looked at the mirror. He looked at the elves in front of him.

“You will let me go.”

“No.”

He had no time. He stood up straight. His fists clenched up and he walked towards them. They trapped his heart in Val Royeaux without him. They killed a man for doing nothing but giving directions to another eluvian.

Very few in living memory had the luck of seeing Fen’Harel in his shifted form.

It seemed it was their lucky day.

"I am going."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hesitant at first to put in original/non-inquisitor characters in, but eh.


	9. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will one day get a stable update schedule.
> 
> Maybe.

She snapped her head back when she heard a hissing noise, and a stream of curses came out from her mouth. The eluvian was inactive. It was inactive, and Solas hadn’t come through. She stared in horror for a few seconds, and every possible bad scenario played in her head.

She didn’t know much about the mirrors, or how they worked. And she wasn’t a mage, so she couldn’t even think of opening one without the password. She was stuck, and he wasn’t there.

But Solas was powerful, and she had spent years alone. She could manage. It would all work out.

She looked around her environment. The room was dark. The only light source was from a small skylight on the roof. It was obviously an attic. Boxes and crates lined the wall and everything except the mirror had a fine layer of dust on it. She approached a door on the floor and pushed it down with her foot. It swung down.

She sat on the dirty floor and fell through the hole. It led to a small hallway that reeked of piss and poverty. She stared up at the open door. She couldn’t close it on her own. She was short, even for an elf. She looked around and caught sight of a pole behind an empty bookcase in the hall. She pushed the door up with the pole and put it right back where she found it before running down the hall.

It took her a couple of minutes to find a stairwell down to the ground floor of the building. The few elves she passed by in the halls ignored her, if not avoided her. She stepped out of the doorway out onto the street.

The streets were cramped and the buildings were forced together to make something similar to a shanty town. It stank, and she found herself breathing through her mouth. It wasn’t as cold as it was in the wilds, but the chill was still oppressive. She started down the street.

The Val Royeaux alienage was truly the saddest out of all the slums. The roads were so poorly maintained they could hardly be called roads, and the buildings were all cramped together and rotting. And it was so cramped. The roads were narrow and the buildings so tall almost no direct light hit the streets. She couldn’t tell what time it was. It was obviously early, due to the temperature and the lack of people on the streets.

She let her feet guide her through the unfamiliar neighborhood. She noticed that there were some shops. Mostly small, hole-in-the-wall kind of places that sold small amounts of food, clothing, and other household staples. She smiled. Despite all their troubles, her people were still managing to survive.

She continued down the labyrinth of alleyways and streets until she came across the vhenadahl. It was cramped in a tiny courtyard, its branches pressed against the walls of nearby buildings and all the leaves were missing from the cold. She approached the tree and stared up at it. Ribbons were tied around its trunk and branches, and buckets of growing flowers lined the base of the tree. How the small flowers survived the winter cold, she didn’t know, but it brought a smile to her face.

Even in the worst of places, beauty could still be found.

She sat on a bench several feet away from the tree and stared at it. Its branches looked as though they were desperately reaching up to the top of the roofs, in some vain attempt to get sunlight. It was a miracle it hadn’t died. It probably could only get sunlight for a few hours in a day, and in the winter even less.

But it found a way.

She opened her pack and pulled out a book to pass the time. It was far too early to start snooping around, looking for information on an elven spymaster. She hoped Solas would find another eluvian and appear sometime. But she doubted that would happen. But it would work out.

She stood up after she heard a far off bell ring nine times. People were now walking down the road and the alienage seemed less depressive with people going about their business. Her people were surviving. Despite everything they were put through every day, her people survived, and continued despite everything working against them.

She walked down one of the larger streets and stopped in front of a storefront. In the display window was a table covered in household staples. Soaps, clothes, rags, dishes, pots and pans, cutlery—

The cutlery caught her eye, and she walked into the store. A bell rang when she opened the door and a boy shot up from behind the counter, obviously napping on the job. He yawned and welcomed her into the store. She nodded and walked around the store. It was a normal general goods store, and it was well maintained, considering the fact it was in the alienage.

She picked up one of the sweetbreads they had on a shelf with a few other larger loaves and stopped in front of a collection of silverware. It wasn’t wooden, but actual metal. She picked up a fork. It was solid. Wouldn’t bend at all. It was steel. Real steel.

She stared at it for a while before walking to the counter where the boy sat. He was still half asleep. He flipped through a small book, looking for the price on the roll she picked up, and she leaned against the counter top.

“That would be two copper royals.”

She dug in her coin pouch on her belt, fishing out coins. She didn’t even know if she had any coppers. Almost never did she make a cheap purchase anymore.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

She looked at the boy. He was pointing to her breast.

“I can see the weapon. If you don’t hide it better, you’ll get in trouble.”

She looked down. Only a trained eye could have seen it. She looked back up to him with a grin. “Good eye, da’len.”

He stared when she spoke. “Your accent. It’s Dalish, isn’t it?”

“It is.” She became a bit self conscious of it. She’d gotten so used to using the trading/dwarven accent while in the Inquisition . . .

“I don’t mean to ask but—” He hesitated. “Are you the Inquisitor?”

She smiled. “You recognize me?”

He smiled. “It is you! Andraste’s flaming sword, the Inquisitor!”

“Don’t get too excited. I’m not the Inquisitor anymore.”

“Everyone’s heard about how you vanished. No one knows why. Some people even think the Maker took you up to the Fade to live with him and Andraste!”

She snorted. “Well, I’m still here.”

“What are you doing here in the alienage? With a title like yours, I’d think you could go anywhere you like!”

She smiled. “I’m right where I want to be.”

“My store?”

“Yep.” She gestured to the table by the front window. “That cutlery. Can I ask where you get it? It’s very high quality.”

“Lots of us work as helping hands for smithies and other labor-intensive jobs. The ones we get are 'imperfect,' but they’re good compared to the alternative. It’s easy to get good forks and knives. Just gotta know who to ask.”

“Huh.” She paused. “What about weapons?”

The boy froze for a moment. “What about them?”

“Do you get any imperfect knives long enough to be considered a weapon?”

“Why do you care?”

“Would you like to know why I left the Inquisition, da’len?”

He nodded.

“I want to help our people. I can’t do that through politics. Politics require you to be careful, and not drastically upset the balance of society.” She pulled two coins out of her pouch. “But it’s impossible to get the elves of Orlais in a better situation without upsetting everyone.”

“Unfortunately,” he commented.

“If you don’t trust me, that’s fine. But if there’s anyone you know that can . . .”

“It’s not that!” He scratched his head. “You’ve just come at a weird time, and everyone in the alienage is on edge. You’re the Inquisitor. The elves in Halamshiral still remember the funds you gave them to help rebuild their homes after the Empress purged them all.”

The boy hesitated.

“What do you need to know, ma’am?” he asked. He seemed to age five years in the same amount of seconds.

“I need to find Briala. I know she’s in charge. We’ve met before. She knows me.”

He nodded and pulled out a piece of paper from behind the counter, and graphite stick. He started writing.

“I have weapons. No one notices when a few daggers go missing from a large smithy, and most elves aren’t hesitant to do petty theft. I give extras to Briala.”

“How many elves have blades here?”

“Not a lot. Maybe one out of five, but most of them don’t even know how to use a blade. Briala is expecting me to deliver her a dozen blades tonight in the alienage. You want to come with?”

“Sure.” She paused. “So, you trust me?”

“Even if my judgement is wrong, and you turn out to be a spy for some noble,” he started, “Briala could kill you if she decided to.”

She chuckled. “I don’t doubt that. Blades aren’t my specialty.”

He handed her a piece of paper. “These are the directions to the spot we’re supposed to meet. Face north with your back to the vhenadahl, and just follow the directions. Head there after the bells signal midnight.”

Take second right, take seventh left, take staircase down . . .

“Thanks,” she said and put the paper in her coat. “I don’t think I ever I got your name.”

He took the two coins and she took the small piece of bread. “Cotton. Not a very dignified name, I know.”

She smiled and waved as she walked out of the store. She had an entire day to burn. She stood on the street and took a bite out of the bread. She could leave the alienage and meander around Val Royeaux, or she could just walk around the alienage for a while.

Her train of thought stopped when a couple of kids ran by and one stumbled into her. She felt a hand in her coat. The child started to dash off when she grabbed his wrist and twisted it. He had nothing in his hand and she let him go. He stumbled forward, staring at her, unsure of what to do.

“Run off. I won’t tell.”

He scurried off to the nearest alley. She had no reason to cause issue with a random pickpocket. She took another bite out of the bread and shifted—

She felt her belt. Her coin pouch.

“The little shit,” she muttered and ran down the alley.

She stopped at the first turn and waited. She heard footsteps further down and dashed down the uneven pathways. She turned the corner when the alley ended and she saw a door slam shut. She walked up to the door and knocked.

She knocked again, and after several seconds an old lady opened the door.

“May I help you?”

“Does a young boy live here?”

The woman looked genuinely confused. “No. Just me and my husband. Why?”

“Someone cut my purse. It’s fine. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“Ah, so that’s what that was. I saw young boy come and close my door. I wasn’t sure why—”

“Hey!”

She looked up, and the old woman stepped out from the doorframe. On the roof of the buildings was the boy with the most infuriating smile plastered on his face. He held up her purse.

“Sorry, lady!” he shouted and ran out of sight.

“That little cunt,” she muttered.

“Ah,” the old woman said. “That boy. Snapper, we call him. Just an orphan.”

“And he just took about fifty gold royals from me.” She rubbed her forehead. “Sorry for the trouble, ma’am.”

“It’s no problem. Sorry about the money.”

She decided to not even walk around for the rest of the day. She sat near the vhenadahl and finished reading Varric’s newest book. She hated the writing, but at least the story was interesting, and it passed the time. She took mental note of where the sun was when she could see it, and remember where north was.

The day passed slowly and then the bell rang twelve times. She sat up from the bench and pulled on her pack. She took out the note from her coat and read it under the light from a nearby lamp. Go straight north and take the second turn down the street.

The alleys were far too dark for comfort. She turned and walked to the seventh alley that went left, and climbed down a few steps. The alley ended and turned right into a large open courtyard. There were benches and pots of flower in the centre of the yard. She leaned against a wall.

Within two minutes Cotton was there with a large bag over his shoulders. He nodded to her and sat down on the bench. She joined him.

“She should be here soon.”

“Right.”

She yawned and relaxed in the seat.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Long day.”

The sounds of screams woke her up and she shot up from the bench, glancing down every alley and pathway she could see. She pulled her knife out of her coat and waited. She unsheathed the dagger when she heard footsteps approach.

Three figures stumbled out of an alley. One teenaged girl and—She did a double take. It was the two kids that bumped into her outside the store. The cutpurse. The girl ran towards her and Cotton.

“Run,” the girl said, crying. “They’re coming!”

“Who?” Atisha asked as the girl stood behind them, the two boys under the girl’s arms.

“Humans! I don’t know why. They just opened the door to the building and started killing!”

She glared down the alley the kids came out from. “How many?”

“More than a few. They aren’t nobles or guards. I don’t know who—”

“Calm yourself, child. And quiet down. I need to listen.”

Footsteps. Distant, but approaching.

“Snapper, is it?”

The boy squeaked.

“Keep the purse. We have bigger issues than a few royal coins.”

Two men appeared from the shadows of the alley. From their gait and the way they spoke, she could tell immediately that they weren’t sober.

“Look, boys! The rabbit has a kitchen knife!”

_This dragonbone kitchen knife will castrate you._

“Put that down, knife-ear. You don’t even know how to use that.”

“Try me,” she spat.

“Feisty. I like that.”

More came out from the alley. Seven men with swords, and all she had was a dagger. She tightened her grip on the blade and stared at the approaching group. Their blades were wet with blood.

“What have these children done to deserve death?”

“You are insects. You mean nothing to the world. You’re all whores and servants for a reason.”

She frowned. “Come at me. Or are you just going to shout empty threats like a Ferelden?”

The man scowled and charged at her.

She sidestepped his lunge and dug her blade into his sword hand. He cried out in pain and she kneed his groin when he tried to jerk back. She took the sword and was about to throw it to the side before she glanced at the pommel.

She recognized that insignia from Josephine’s dreadful lessons on Orlesian nobility.

She kicked his crotch again and the man slumped to the ground.

“You are chevaliers!” she hissed and kicked the man in the head, letting him fall on the ground.

“Shit,” another said. “Kill her!”

She stepped back. Even if they were drunk, she doubted her ability to fight seven chevaliers. She gripped the newfound sword and took another step back. She was going to die.

“Why are you doing this? You are chevaliers!”

The closest one approached her and then an arrow was sticking through his neck. He fell.

She raised her sword to the side from where the arrow came from, and saw an elven woman holding a bow.

“I will tell you why, Lavellan.” The elf notched another arrow. “It is one of the was they test their new chevaliers. Send them into the alienage to test their blades on the rabbits.”

She smiled. “Nice to finally find you, Briala. Or, I guess you found me.” She backed away from the men.

“I can assume you are the reason one of my outposts in Halamshiral was wrecked?” Briala shot another man before he could get behind cover.

“I don’t know anything about that—”

A hand grabbed her ankle and she was falling over. _Oh, right. The chevalier. Alcohol numbs pain._

She fell and the man was over her, knife in hand. He grabbed her neck and she punched his arm away when he tried to drive the blade into her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t—

An arrow entered the man’s shoulder and she attempted to throw him off her, but he hit her back. He slammed her head against the stone ground and dug his knife into her ribs, and she screamed. He stabbed her again before a knife wrapped around the man’s neck and his throat was shabbily cut open. He fell over and Cotton was standing behind him, knife in hand and expression horrified.

She ignored the knife sticking out of her chest and she glanced to Briala. She was busy fighting off the ones that remained. She felt her breathing get worse and worse.

“Inquisitor!” the boy said and knelt behind her.

She smacked his hand away when it attempted to dislodge the knife. “Do not.”

She was going to die.

She forced herself to sit up and she lurched over, coughing up blood and spit. She teared up and attempted to stand, but she just fell on her knees, grunting in pain.

“Mage,” she breathed. “Healer. Find one. Cotton. Now.”

The boy scurried up and ran down an alley and she was left there. The three kids hid behind the bench in the centre of the yard, and Briala was busy trying not to die.

She breathed out and slumped onto the ground. Of all the ways to die, it was going to be from an intoxicated chevalier.

And then she was shifted onto someone’s lap and the knife was ripped out of her chest. She was about to scream in agony before all pain in her body vanished, a hand pressing itself against her chest.

“Vhenan,” a voice said.

Her eyes shot open and she glanced up at Solas. There was a terribly healed cut on his cheek. “How did you get here?”

“I found Oriel, and he found me an Eluvian.” He glanced back to Briala for a moment.

Briala was no longer alone. Oriel was there, freezing the chevaliers in place and letting Briala cut them down. Solas looked at the man that lay next to her, and his expression went blank. The man was still alive. The cut to his neck wasn’t deep enough.

“Thank—” He moved her off his lap and stood up. “—you?”

He stepped over to the man and leaned over. He touched the man’s neck, healing it, and the man gasped awake, crawling away from Solas.

She sat up. “Solas, what are you doing?”

He ignored her and stared at the man. Solas’ face twisted into a scowl and he took a step for every foot the man moved. “She was on the brink of death. Because of you.”

“Get back, apostate.”

She forced herself up and stumbled towards him. “Solas, don’t—” She remembered what happened when Wisdom died. She couldn’t let it happen again.

He glared at her and she stopped. He looked back to the man. “You have fifteen seconds.”

The man’s eyes widened.

“One.”

“Solas, don’t!” She reached out to touch him but he stepped closer to the man.

“Two.”

A cry of agony from one of the men that Briala was dealing with.

“Three.”

The man shot up and dashed down one of the alleys. Solas stepped forward again and she grabbed his sleeve.

“Solas, stop it!”

He looked down at her, and for the first time in her life, she feared him.

“My agents destroyed the eluvian after you stepped through it. They endangered both of us by that stunt, and then attempted to kill me. I finally find a way to Val Royeaux, where I find you, with a knife inches away from your heart.”

He looked back to the few men that her father and Briala were fighting and they were consumed by purple flames. Nothing remained and the two elves jumped back. The smell was horrendous.

“But he was already going to die!” She tightened her grip on his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I am giving him what he deserves.”

He started walking and nothing she did could make him stop. “So what, are you just going to toy with him?”

He looked at her. “Yes.”

A feeling of terror hit her and she let his arm go.

“Lethallin,” Oriel started, “what are you doing?”

Solas didn’t respond. He stepped forward and he was consumed in a cloud of black smoke. The cloud stirred and shifted into the silhouette of a giant wolf. The wolf appeared more ethereal than physical. She stepped back when three red eyes glared at her.

The wolf ran down the alley after the man and she realized she hadn’t been breathing.

The feeling of terror that overwhelmed her wasn’t natural, and all traces of fear vanished when the wolf left.

“Mythal’s mercy,” her father said. “He truly is Fen’Harel.”

“Fen’Harel?” Briala asked. “The figure from Elven legend?”

“He incinerated those men without even making a gesture!”

“He’s going to torture him,” she breathed. She ran to where her knife lay on the pavement and dashed down the alley after the wolf.

She stumbled on a loose brick in the road and turned down a larger alley, following the shouts. Her chest hurt beyond belief, and she felt pressure in her lungs from the wounds that were healed. Blood had probably gotten in her lungs. Breathing was difficult and the wave of dread hit her again.

She forced herself to continue and walked into another courtyard.

The man was a sniveling mess, cornered between two walls and body bloodied from the wound in his neck. The wolf was over him, his ears arched back and mouth twisted into a snarl.

The wolf bit down on the man’s leg and threw the man across the courtyard. The screams were unbearable, and out of the wolf’s mouth fell the man’s former leg. The wolf trotted to the other side of the courtyard to where the man lay.

She tightened her grip around her knife and ran towards the wolf. The fear in her was like that of the entropic terror spells she experienced while in battle. But she ignored it.

She threw herself in front of the maw of the wolf and he shot back. The wolf’s eyes narrowed and his scowl lessened.

_Let me pass, vhenan._

“No!” she yelled in response to the disembodied voice. “You are not killing him because he is a threat. You are torturing him out of hate!”

_I could do far worse if I wished. He deserves worse than what he is getting._

“Maybe he does. But just because someone deserves something doesn’t mean giving them what they deserve is a good thing!”

She looked down at the man. His head was bleeding from the throw and the arrow in his shoulder was shifted and the wound was mangled now. His leg was bitten off at the artery.

“Heal him. This wasn’t self defense. He was already going to die, before you patched up his neck.”

_I will not._

“You’d rather him bleed to death?”

_Yes._

She was going to kill them both. She gripped her knife and stabbed the dying man in the heart.

She was no longer scared. She turned around and faced Solas. His expression was blank.

“That was cruel.”

“I am aware,” he replied. He sat down on the road.

“And what did you gain from that?”

“Knowledge that even if he somehow lived, he would never dare touch you again.”

“I don’t need you to torture for my sake.” She glared at him. “Promise me that this will never happen again.”

“I can not.”

“Why? Are you that cruel that you wish to inflict suffering on others?”

“I wish that I would never have to hurt another. But I will not let someone harm you and not suffer for it.” His head lowered and he sighed. “I can not.”

“Why?!”

He hesitated. He started to speak but stopped. He closed his eyes.

“I promise you, this will never happen again.” He started shaking. “When I saw you—I thought you were dead.”

“I’m not going to die that easily.” She walked to him and knelt in front of him. “Someone has to keep you from being an idiot.”

He smiled for an instant before looking at the body of the man.

“You are right.”

She looked up. Oriel and Briala stood at the entrance of the yard. Briala looked highly skeptical, to say the least. She stood and pulled Solas up.

“It’ll be okay Solas, I promise.”

His gaze lingered on the body. He looked at her. “I’m sorry.”

She hugged him. He was shaking when he wrapped his arms around her waist.

He didn't stop shaking.


	10. Alienage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any typos or composition errors.

He couldn’t look. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. He had completely lost it. Between his stupid agents and those men nearly cutting down his heart, the stress and worrying was too much. If he lost her . . .

He looked back to the body and raised his hand. Violet flames consumed the body, leaving nothing to show what had happened. He looked at his heart. She didn’t look at him. She was disgusted by him. She was disgusted and he wanted to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I know. It’s okay.”

She looked back and his eyes followed hers. Her father and Briala were there. Briala looked skeptical, to say the least. Atisha loosened her arms around his back and gave him a faint smile before walking over to the two elves, pulling him along with her. Briala glared at him as they approached.

“Are you alright, da’len?” Oriel asked and approached Atisha. His eyes were glued to her stained and cut coat.

“I’m fine. Sore.”

They all stood there in an awkward silence for a long while before Atisha spoke again.

“We should go check on the children.”

She started walking, not bothering to check if anyone was following her. He glanced at her father and Briala. Briala was still glaring at him.

“You have questions,” he said.

“Many.” Her eyes never faltered. “Who are you?”

He paused. Briala knew who he was. He considered his possible answers. “A man who wishes to be forgotten.”

He started down the road to the courtyard and the two followed him.

“Oriel referred to you as Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf.”

“I heard.”

“An Elven god.”

“A false-god.”

“I’ve been told many stories about the Dread Wolf. Forgive me if I’m skeptical.”

Oriel chuckled. “You know, I’d imagine a person would normally have trouble believing they were in the presence of a thousand year old legend.”

“I have fought demons and undead. I’ve traveled places long forgotten, and at one point, places I would have considered to be myth. At this point, I think I’m able to believe anything.”

“Fair point.”

He looked to the ground and spoke. “I once received the title of Fen’Harel, yes. And as years passed by, stories of the Dread Wolf have twisted into nothing but fairy-tales and fiction.”

“But all have one thing in common. They all described him as a being that took delight in trickery, deceit and betrayal.”

He hesitated. “I never acted without cause. And the stories are pure fiction now. Let us leave it at that.”

She said nothing else. When they entered the courtyard, Atisha was by the benches, speaking to the three young elves. A few windows on the surrounding buildings had been opened, curious residents wanting to see what all the fuss was about. The kids were crying and the eldest looked horribly shaken, but they were unharmed.

“Sorry,” the youngest one said to her and held out her . . . coin purse?

“Keep it, da’len. Get yourself some warm food.” She smiled at the boy.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the older girl repeated. “If you hadn’t done that, I . . .”

“You’re welcome. Think nothing of it. Now go home before something else happens.”

The girl nodded and pulled one of the kids with her, leaving the youngest alone.

“Do you have a home?” she asked.

The boy shook his head.

“Want to stay with me for a while?”

“Even after I robbed you?”

She felt her bloodstained coat. “I’ve had worse things happen.”

“Here’s the courtyard!”

They all turned around. It was a young man who he didn’t recognize, followed by a hooded figure with a stave. He saw the hooded face, and he was convinced they had the absolute worst luck.

The man pulled off his hood, revealing an elf with cheeks adorned by vallaslin. “Atisha?”

She stared. “You’ve got to be joking. Thene’len?”

“Unfortunately.” He sneered at her before looking at the young man he arrived with. “Ain’t healing her. Besides the fact she looks plenty healed already.”

Oriel sighed. “How can a father fail so miserably that his two children despise each other?”

“It ain’t got nothing to do with you,” the man replied. “It’s her, and her ability to bring misfortune wherever she goes!”

Atisha said nothing.

“You know her?” the young man asked.

“I know her all too well.”

Atisha sighed. “I believe we have some things to talk about, Briala?”

“Oh no,” Thene’len interrupted. “You and me are gonna have a talk”

She looked at him. “No. Not a talk. You’re going to yell at me, never let me defend myself, and further convince yourself I’m cursed, or something similar.”

“I’m supposed to forgive you for killing clan Lavellan? How all their blood is on your hands?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, brother.”

“Oh, yes I do. While you’ve been enjoying life, everyone I’ve ever known was murdered. Because of you.”

Atisha froze and Solas stepped forward.

“Not another word,” he said.

Thene’len glared at him. “This ain’t any of your business, flat ear.”

“Will you shut up?!” she shouted. “I just nearly died protecting a bunch of children. I don’t need my brother giving me shit for something I can’t fix, and I don’t need my brother insulting my partner!” She looked at Briala. “Do you have a place we can stay? I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Briala crossed her arms. “I have somewhere. And I was unaware that Thene’len was related to you.”

“Well he is. And we’re leaving it at that.”

The young man that came with Thene’len fidgeted. “Sorry, Lavellan. I didn’t know—”

“Don’t worry about it, da’len. I asked you to get a mage, and you did. My brother is a very powerful mage. You did good.”

“What happened to the shems?”

“They were taken care of.”

The young man picked up a sack by the benches and handed it to Briala. “Here.”

“Thanks,” the woman replied as she took the bag, and the young man retreated into the labyrinth of alleyways. “Are we going, Lavellan?”

“Yes,” she said and followed Briala down a path after she grabbed her pack by the benches. The remaining child scurried after her.

Oriel stared at his son, and his son stared at him.

“Solas,” Thene’len said. “I see you’re still with her.”

“We are engaged. I have no intention of not being with her.”

“Huh.” He smirked. “Didn’t know she had it in her.”

“How would you know? You do not even know her.”

He followed the three elves down the alley. Oriel and Thene’len stayed in the courtyard, and he heard his father start scolding the man. He hurried and walked behind Atisha. They walked for only a few minutes before Briala led them down an alley with a dead end.

Briala unlocked the last door on the left and it opened into a small empty flat. She crossed the room and opened the door to an armoire. She stuck her hand behind the furniture and the back panel of the dresser opened forward, revealing a door. All four passed through the armoire and into an open room. A table sat in the middle of the room and a hallway went further back into the building. The child immediately went to the nearest couch and collapsed on the cushions.

“So,” Briala started and walked to the table, “what brings you to Val Royeaux, Inquisitor?”

“Not Inquisitor anymore. Quit. And I’m here because I want to help the Elves of Thedas. And I can’t do that as Inquisitor.” Atisha followed and sat on a chair.

“As I remember, you criticized my way of helping the Elves.”

“I criticized rash decisions and completely disrupting the social balance of Orlais.” She looked down. “But I realized that our people can’t get in a better situation if we don’t disrupt something.”

“And you?” Briala asked and looked to him.

“I am here because she is here.” He paused. “And I would like to see the Elves of Orlais get out of the inescapable poverty that they’re in.”

“And who are you?”

“An apostate whose name is Solas. Whatever I’ve done in the past is irrelevant.”

Briala stared at him before looking back to Atisha. “I think we can continue this talk later. Rooms are in the back. I have business to attend to.” She glanced at the kid on the couch. “Should I worry about him?”

“We’ll take care of him,” Atisha said and stood up. “Thank you, Briala.”

Briala nodded and walked out the entrance, closing the hidden door of the dresser. Atisha walked to one of the back rooms and came back with a blanket. She walked to the couch where the boy lay and draped the blanket over his sleeping form. He was snoring.

She yawned and pulled Solas along down the hallway. She opened a door that led into a small room, half bedroom, and half storage closet. He lit a candle on the nightstand and Atisha yawned again.

“I’m gonna go . . .” She pulled at her coat. The blood was drying. “Clean myself. I’ll be back soon.”

He nodded and she walked out the room. He took off his coat and top layer and collapsed on the bed. A long day. He rolled onto his back and took off the amulet around his neck. He stared at it. He completely lost it. He was going to torture another living being for no reason other than hatred. He whined and threw the amulet across the room.

She was disgusted by him. The way she looked at him back in the alley— she was scared of him. Even if just for a moment, she feared him. The thought was unbearable, and he felt as though he were dying.

She was disgusted. And so was he.

He lay there until he dozed off.

He was woken up by something pushing into his back, then he sat up. He was still lying horizontally across the mattress. Atisha was under the blankets, curled up in a ball so she wouldn’t have to move him to sleep comfortably. She must’ve kicked him in her sleep. He moved and lay under the blankets. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her against his chest.

She stirred and he only tightened his arms around her.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

She only replied after a minute of silence. “Are you okay?”

He looked at her then. “No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He paused. She kissed his cheek and he finally spoke as he relit the candle on the bedside table.

“I can not lose you.” He took her hand. “I cannot.”

She frowned. “You’re not losing me anytime soon, I can promise you that. I’m too stubborn to die.”

He chuckled and she smiled. She kissed his lips.

“We don’t need to worry about that right now,” she said.

“No, we do not.”

“But you are never going to enter an eluvian without me.”

“Understood,” he replied.

Her hands and lips roamed down his body. “And I’m not disgusted, or scared of you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I know you, Solas. What happened last night, it’s alright.” She kissed his neck.

“. . . I am sorry.”

“Hush.”

She kissed his lips and jaw as she slowly started putting her body on his. Her hands became more adventurous and her lips more rough on his. He gasped when her hands found his groin, and she swat his hands away when he reached for her waist.

“Vhenan?” He bit back a moan when she started stroking his length through his pants. The fabric started to hurt.

She smiled. “I want to be on top. You just relax.”

When her hips moved against his, he found himself unable to do anything but.

 

“So,” Briala said as she sat at the table, “you’ve come at an excellent time, Lavellan.”

“How so?” she replied as she plopped on the couch next to Solas.

She had a heavy poncho on since her coat was ripped open the previous night. The child that came with them sat at the table, wolfing down a plate of mixed meats and fruits. Oriel sat at the table as well, casting a small ice spell in his hands to keep himself occupied.

“Well, I’m sure you know how the Elves here aren’t particularly able to have a violent revolt. The purging of Halamshiral was proof of that.”

“Unfortunately.”

“In truth, I see no way of liberating the Elves without bloodshed.” Briala tapped the table. “But I’ve spent some time . . . persuading several nobles to provide aid in a few small ways.”

“Are any of them acting out of the goodness of their hearts?”

“Only a couple. But that’s something for another time. The people—”

The panel that led out of the room slammed open and Thene’len was there. He looked horrified.

“Briala, we need you!”

She stood up. “What’s wrong?”

“Elves are angry over what happened last night. Four people were murdered before the chevaliers stumbled across my sister.” He rubbed his forehead. “They’re going to get themselves killed!”

“Wonderful,” Oriel commented.

“Damn it. The last thing we need is another purge,” Briala said and went for the door. “Where are they?”

“The main southern gate,” Thene’len said and disappeared through the door again.

“Are you coming?” she asked and looked back at them.

Oriel walked through the door and Atisha shot up from the couch. He stood up and ran to the room they slept in. He grabbed Atisha’s scarf and his coat, pulling it on as he followed after the group. He ran down the alley and caught up with the group, tossing Atisha her scarf.

It was getting colder. The streets and alleys were crowded with people, and as they approached the wall there were only more and more men and women crowding around. He took Atisha’s hand as they pushed their way through the crowd of people. He heard shouts and curses as they approached the gate.

In front of the large doors stood a group of several guards with all their swords unsheathed. A group of particularly angry women stood in front of the guards, practically daring the guards to strike at them.

“We demand the guards investigate!” the oldest woman yelled. “We are not sheep waiting to be slaughtered.”

“Enough, woman!” one of the guards replied.

“No! You know who attacked the Alienage. Do something!”

The guard pulled his arm back and then Atisha was gone. She was in front of the woman and she took the armored fist that was meant for the older woman. She coughed and slumped to her knees and the woman gasped.

“Surely,” Atisha started, “we don’t need to start throwing punches.”

The woman spoke. “Ma’am, I am so sorry—”

“Sir,” she said and looked up to the guard, “elves in the alienage are considered, under Orlesian law, to be citizens, right?” She stood up. “And the guard of Val Royeaux is charged with protecting citizens of Orlais, isn’t it?”

The guard looked stunned. “Denizens of the slums are second class citizens—”

“The city guard doesn’t distinguish class when it comes to performing their job.”

He scowled. “Do not get uppity with me, rabbit.”

“I’m having a civil conversation,” she corrected him. “Since these men and women are citizens of this nation, they are sworn protection while in the city walls.”

“You are not a citizen?”

“I am stateless.”

The man punched her gut again and she keeled over. “I am arresting you for intentionally causing social disobedience in the alienage.”

“Lavellan!” Briala shouted.

“Da’len!” her father shouted.

Briala started to move closer. Atisha started hitting the arms of the guard and Solas attempted to storm through the wall of people.

“Let me go, you quick-blooded bastard!”

The guard threw her to the ground and kicked her. Other elves pushed forward and guards formed a barrier to keep the oncoming people out.

He dashed forward and slid under the legs of the guards. He scurried ahead and threw himself in front of Atisha, taking a kick to the head. It hurt like nothing else, but he couldn’t risk using magic.

“Move,” the man said.

He refused.

“I said move!”

He was kicked again and he bit back a cry.

Chaos immediately ensued. A brave elf took a nearby brick and beat it against the head of a female guard. Others took inspiration from the brave elf and the guards were jumped on. Their swords couldn’t stop a mob of angry fists. The guard standing over him glanced up at the discord and he took his chance. He grabbed Atisha and attempted to run, but the guard caught him and stepped on his leg.

“You are not going anywhere—”

He glared up at the human. And then the man was a statue. It started to crumble. He looked at the woman under him and she stared at the petrified man.

“Solas, you—”

The statue disintegrated.

“Get up.”

“You turned him to stone with a glance—”

He pulled her up. He felt awful. He pulled her towards an alley and he put his hand on the back of her head. He started soothing the skin when she flinched. They watched the assault from the shadows. Two guards were dead, excluding the one he petrified. The rest attempted to run through the gates as the angry mob pressed forward.

“They’re going to purge the alienage,” she said.

He said nothing.

A guard stumbled as he fled and a group of elves jumped on him.

“Stop!” she shouted and ran out of the alley.

She threw herself against the group of people on top of the unfortunate guard and wormed her way on top of the fallen guard. The group of people attempted to remove her, but she refused.

“Stop it, you idiots! Do you want the alienage to be purged?” She raised her voice. “Because that’s what's going to happen now!”

The small group around them stopped and Atisha pulled the guard onto his feet. The guard collapsed and Solas walked forward, helping Atisha hold the guard up. They pulled the guard towards the gate and pushed their way past the mob trying to break through. They reached the large gates and pushed the guard through the small opening between the doors.

“We need them to stop,” she said. “They’re dooming themselves.”

“Stop this!” he commanded.

It was a simple spell, and one used commonly in Elvhenan. Project your words directly into the heads of whoever you wished. It wasn’t a compulsion or a geas. It was merely an unignorable voice.

And they did stop, but didn’t get much time to think.

Atisha spoke loudly and created a presence the people could not ignore.

“Cousins, I know that you are filled with sorrow over the loss of your brethren, but this is not the way to get justice! This will only create more problems and more bloodshed.”

“She is right,” a voice agreed.

An older elf appeared from the crowd. Her expression was kind and voice soft

“What is your name, young one?”

“Atisha.”

The old woman paused. “The Inquisitor?”

“Not anymore. Are you the elder of this alienage?”

“I am. My name is Meri.”

“Hahren, I’m here because I wish to help our people. Although, now . . .”

“Our people have just doomed themselves. Several members of the Academy of Chevaliers were killed, and now a group of guards were attacked on the street. It matters not why. They will purge us. We cannot defend ourselves against a purge, and we cannot leave.”

“Damn it.”

“May I say something?” he asked.

“Ah,” the old woman said, “so you are the voice I found myself hearing. Strong magic.

“Yes. And I may know a way to . . . prevent massive casualties.”

“And how, cousin?”

“Atisha, what is the holiday that is about to come?”

“Satinalia?” she said and tilted her head. “What about it?”

He paused. “I wonder if it would work. The Orlesians enjoy their holidays very much, do they not?”

The older woman chuckled. “It amazes me how much the humans of Orlais celebrate Satinalia. Three days of constant celebration and merriment. Our people are never much ones to celebrate.”

He was once considered a god of rebellion. Perhaps it was time to put those skills to use again.

“Not every rebellion needs to be a massacre.” He grinned. “Sometimes, the wisest course of action is inaction.”

“So you suggest we do nothing and let them slaughter us?”

“No. I would never suggest that. The alienage needs to be united right now more than ever. What forces are used to conduct a purge?”

“City guards, possibly soldiers from the royal army. But since we’re in the capital, the only person who can order a purge is the Empress herself.”

Briala stepped forward and said, “Which is not something she will hesitate to do if people start doubting her. She personally oversaw the burning of Halamshiral. If citizens of Val Royeaux start talking, Celene will act.”

“Maker, I hate politics,” Atisha spat. “So, what, we need to discourage Celene? How?”

“What about Divine Victoria? The relationship between the Chantry and the Empress is strong, is it not?” Solas asked.

“Cassandra!” she exclaimed. “I think I know what we can do. Briala, do you have any eluvians in the Grand Cathedral?”

“Of course I do. Why?”

“Perfect!” She looked back to the elder of the alienage. “Hahren, please keep the people here under control.”

“What—” the Elder started.

“Briala, where’s the nearest eluvian?”

“I can bring you to one.”

“Please do.” Atisha looked up to him. “Solas, will you stay here and make sure no other humans come in and cause trouble?”

“I think I can,” he replied.

She smiled and hugged him. “I’ll be back soon. Make sure no one kills each other, okay?”

He nodded and kissed her forehead. She smiled and followed Briala down a side street. He looked at the elder, and at the crowd dispersing around them, and rubbed his eyes.

It was going it be a long day.


End file.
